


That Summer

by beespiesandplaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beespiesandplaid/pseuds/beespiesandplaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Don’t, Black. Don’t push it.”</p><p>Sirius dives back under the water and swims out into the calm of the lake. When he pauses and turns his head, Remus is a shadow vanishing into the dark of the woods. Interesting, is what Remus Lupin is.</p><p>Interesting is so much more dangerous than beautiful."</p><p>Sirius summer plans didn't include being dragged to a tiny french village full of bookshops, but that is what he ends up doing. A story about falling in love, leaving things behind, forests, bookshops, awkward kisses, and kittens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were a few things Sirius Black hated in life; his parents, tiny towns in the middle of the French countryside, and undercooked toast.

 

The toast wasn’t relevant to the former two objects – it only made the list because it was what he was currently eating for breakfast, whilst his father told him that he had made exciting plans to combine the other things he hated for a solid two months.

 

His mother and father had been experiencing some marital problems (really? He hadn’t noticed. He’d been too distracted by all the screaming that seemed to be going on  _ all of the time. _ ) and had decided to try and remedy the problem by taking an extended summer holiday and staying in their castle (“ _ It’s a Château, Sirius – can’t you at least pretend to be cultured?”)  _ (It was a castle. It had a tower. Maybe two.) in some remote part of France near a tiny medieval town called  Bécherel that was famous for having a lot of bookshops or something.

 

This meant missing the last week of term. Sirius’ concern over this was more to do with his position in the social hierarchy of Hogwarts than his grades, which were not what his parents hoped for but could be an awful lot worse. It also meant cancelling his plans with James, which involved more exotic locations and more exotic people (James was also going to France. But instead of the dull rain of Brittany and bookshops, he was going somewhere with a lot of wizarding nightclubs frequented by Veela.)

 

And he couldn’t sulk and get out of it because he’d foolishly agreed to go on the next family holiday in order to get out of the last one, and Sirius had many bad qualities but going back on his word was (unfortunately) not one of them.

…

The final term of his fifth year at Hogwarts passed with a disappointingly low number of pranks, a depressingly high number of exams, and not nearly enough kissing – some fourth year seemed to have hit puberty with a bang and all the girls were flocking to him instead of Sirius, and all of the boys who were interested in boys had already been involved with Sirius in some capacity. Plus, there was the small matter of a nasty rumour James had spread involving Sirius’ nether reasons and a nasty case of Dragon Warts (which was not true. James had spread the rumour for Sirius’ safety, before he actually contracted some awful disease.)

 

Sirius did consider trying to seduce the aforementioned fourth year, but he wasn’t ready to stoop to that level. Some people might call Sirius Black promiscuous, or other, more derogatory terms – his sex life was no secret in the halls of Hogwarts – but the truth was, Sirius enjoyed it, and saw no reason to commit unless he felt something. And mostly, he didn’t.

 

Most people don’t hold his interest unless their body is firmly pressed against his. Maybe that is shallow, or conceited, but it is the simple truth of him. Boredom and Sirius mix about as well as water and oil, so most of his relationships are short, fizzing things that burn out as quickly as they start.

The only constant is James, and maybe that is because James has a mind that is as drawn to mischief as Sirius’ own. Sirius enjoys plotting with James more than he enjoys kissing him (which has happened, on occasion, normally under the influence of alcohol or a rogue charm. It always ends in laughter rather than arousal, and that is fine with both of them.)

…

He arrives home with a heavy heart, made worse by the obnoxiously shining sun, which seems to be mocking his bad mood with it’s unwavering cheerfulness. They leave this afternoon. He’d rather spend two months with whatever weird combination of things he managed to pack in the next two hours than return home early.

 

As a rebellious teen with a head full of mischief and anarchy,  Sirius hates most things about coming from old money – the manners, the ideals, the incest – but he can not quite bring himself to resent the luxury of travelling privately. He’d used public transport when he stayed with James (also from old money, but slightly more down to earth) and he hated it.

 

It is raining in Bécherel, and Sirius is too grumpy to notice the quaint charm of the cobbled streets and houses leaning in towards one another. Chairs cluster outside café’s, optimistically waiting for sun and customers. It’s not quite tourist season yet though, so they remain empty, water pooling on the seats. If he were less focused on his bad mood, he may have found some charm in the place – Sirius was quite modern, for a wizard, but some part of him – maybe the only part that fitted with his family – held a reverence for history and all that was old. But he was sulking, so he mostly noticed the lack of eligible people to kiss and the lack of places to drink alcohol or cause trouble.

 

The Black Château (castle) stands a way out of the village, a brooding dark smudge on the rolling hills, shadowy trees clustered around it, warning off visitors. Any other occupants may have made the place welcoming – the ugliness of the place came not from the architecture but the stain left by the Blacks. At least, that was what Sirius saw. The building represented nothing more than a prison too him, and he was already counting the hours until he could leave. If nothing else, he could camp out in the woods for most of the next two months. He had a sketchbook and a guitar with him – that would have to do in lieu of decent human company.

 

He once again cursed the fact that he was not yet seventeen and was without magic for the entirety of the summer. He felt the absence of it like you feel the absence of noise, or movement. It was not quite suffocating, but always present, always odd, always wrong. He missed it – magic was  probably his second favourite thing in life, after James Potter and just before kissing. 

…

The first week of the holiday passed slowly and with great boredom. By the following Monday, Sirius was going out of his mind, unable to keep still. He’d thus far avoided the little town, save for the first day when he set out with the vague hope of finding something to remedy his misery. No such luck.

But a week had passed, and his expectations had been lowered, so he returned to the tiny town and walked once more through its cobbled streets, taking the time to peer into the windows of the many bookshops. His French was fairly awful (another retaliation against his family, who were all fluent) so the tomes inside held little interest. One caught his eye though – a shop with a display in the window that held a book with a broomstick that looked far too much like a cleansweep to be entirely fictional.

He pushed open the door, a bell breaking the quiet as he stepped inside. Inside it was gloomy – a room can only hold so many books before daylight gives way to shadows. He squints to see. There is a lamp of some sort deeper within the shelves, so he heads towards it.

Sirius likes the smell of books, though he’d never admit it. He doesn’t read the things – doesn’t have the attention span for all that black and white – but he loves to stand in the library. Something about all of the knowledge and worlds contained in such small, fragile skins gives him the sense of wonder that comes from recognizing beauty.

 

He trails a finger over the dusty tomes, looking for words he recognizes. Most of them are in French, though a few sport more alien alphabets. He picks out enough words to realize this isn’t an ordinary, muggle book shop. This shop is full of wizarding knowledge, most of it specialist.

 

Eventually, he reaches a counter. There is a person stooped over it, writing in a notebook with spiky, fluid writing that is oddly captivating to watch.

 

They look up, and shock spreads across their face.

 

“Sirius Black? What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

 

Sirius frowns at the boy, whose fine boned features seem to be at war over whether to look surprised or horrified.

 

The boy is familiar in the way of things that have been around a long time that you have never really thought about – an unread book on a shelf, a shirt that has sat in your closet for as long as you can remember, the shadow of a familiar piece of furniture.

 

Remus, he realizes eventually. Remus Lupin. A quiet wizard in his year who no one knew a thing about, except that he liked books and had a lot of scars that no one knew the origin of.

 

“Lupin, right?”

 

Remus gives a sharp nod. His features have settled on displeasure.

 

“Why are you here, Black?”

 

Indignation prickles in Sirius’s chest, as well as disappointment – if Remus didn’t apparently dislike him with a passion, Sirius might have been pleased to see him. He was quite attractive, in a reticent, subdued kind of way – all muted colours and gentle shadows, fine fingers and pale skin.

 

“Do you have some kind of problem with me? Because if so, I am – quite reasonably – offended. I don’t even know you,” Sirius says, bluntly. He can have a way with words, when he wants. Mostly he doesn’t bother.

 

Remus flinches at the part about not knowing him. Sirius racks his brains to see if they have some history he has forgotten. He says nothing.

 

“Have we pulled? Because if we have, and I didn’t owl you or whatever, I’m sorry – I was probably drunk. It happens. You go to Hogwarts – you probably know.”

 

Remus looks horrified at the prospect, and Sirius’ indignation only increases.

 

“That’s just rude – I’m quite attractive, so I’m told. No need to act like I’m some repulsive beast. And, just as an aside – that Dragon warts rumour is not true.”

 

“Are you…trying to seduce me?” Remus asks.

 

“What? No. I’m merely insulted that you were so horrified at the prospect of past us being intimate.”

 

“Well we weren’t. I’m sure I’d remember.”

 

Sirius thinks he’d remember too, actually. Remus was unusual in a strangely enthralling way.

 

“Would you tell me what your problem is then? And while you are at it, why are you here in a French magical bookshop?”

 

Remus looks up, and Sirius is struck by the green of his eyes, shocking against the pale tones of his face and hair.

 

“One – because you and your friend are assholes who think the world revolves around you. And you treat people like objects to shove your dick into rather than thinking beings with feeling. Two- I’m here on exchange. Work experience.”

 

“Hogwarts have work experience?” Sirius asks, before processing the previous sentence. “That is very judgemental, Remus Lupin. I am well aware that people have feelings, and the people I get involved with are well aware I have no wish to know about those feelings. It’s just consensual, casual sex.”

 

Remus looks like the idea of such a thing offends him.

 

“Not all of them,” he says.

 

Sirius realizes then, what this must be about. “A friend of yours hates my guts?”

 

“Lily Evans,” Remus says.

 

Crap. Lily Evans was Sirius’ biggest mistake and most longstanding regret.

 

It was a simple story, really. Third year – the year that most of them discovered the opposite sex (and the same one as well, in Sirius’ case) were far less gross than they had been previously.

 

James only had a crush on her, back then, nothing serious. They’d tried to befriend Lily, because Sirius was a great wingman and it seemed like a good idea. Only Lily liked Sirius more than she liked James (not hard, because James was a bumbling idiot around girls he liked) and she ended up pulling Sirius into an empty classroom and snogging him silly.

 

If Sirius was a decent person, he’d have pushed her away.

But here was the thing – Lily Evans was his first kiss, and Lily Evans was a great kisser.

 

So Sirius told James lily sadly wasn’t interested, and spent three weeks meeting her in secret. They never did much talking.  In the end, Sirius moved on, having realized how many beautiful people there were to kiss.

 

He didn’t know Lily thought it was serious. He didn’t know the extent of James feelings.

So when Lily caught him kissing Adrian and then confronted him rather publicly, in front of James, everything went horribly wrong and Sirius was quite surprised when both Lily and James slapped him, one on each cheek. His face burns red at the memory.

 

“So you remember?” Remus says.

 

“Look, that was a really long time ago,” Sirius says.

 

“Two and a half years.”

 

“James is totally over it,” (James was mostly over it.)

 

“James isn’t the girl you cheated on.”

 

“You can’t cheat if you aren’t together!”

 

“Lily thought you were.”

 

“Well if Lily had ever taken her mouth of mine to say more than “oh yes, Sirius, like that” maybe I’d have known that!” His words sound crude in the quiet of the shop, and Remus’ lips narrow to a thin line.

 

“Don’t talk about my friend like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like she was… some kind of slut. She was young. You took advantage of her.”

 

Sirius is abruptly mad. “I took advantage? I’m fairly sure Lily is older than me, and from the way she kissed me I’m also fairly sure I was not the first person she locked lips with. She, however, was the first person I ever kissed, so forgive fourteen year old me for not having a clue about dating etiquette.”

 

“It’s basic courtesy, really.”

 

Sirius laughs. “You don’t know my family. Everybody sleeps with everybody, and as long as their blood is pure and no one talks about it, it’s all fine.”

 

“Don’t use your family as an excuse. If you believed all that crap you’d never have kissed her in the first place. She’s a muggleborn.”

Sirius shrugs. “I’m not going to argue with you. Shame you hate me – we could have had fun this summer.”

 

He turns and makes to leave the shop.

 

“I’m not like that,” Remus snarls after him, and Sirius knows denial when he hears it, and he knows suddenly that if he turns he’ll see that conflict of desire and morality written across Remus’ face.

But he doesn’t turn, because it isn’t his problem. Nothing here is his problem.

 

He does look back through the window of the shop when he steps outside though. Remus is stood between the stacks of books, something between longing and rage in his eyes. Rage at Sirius, for being himself, longing for his body, for being exactly what Remus wants and exactly what he tells himself he can’t have.

 

Sirius isn’t in the mood for being someone else’s experiment anyway. Remus has dangerous eyes – too interesting.

 

Here is the thing about Sirius Black: When someone captures his attention, he runs the other way, as fast as he can. He doesn’t do feelings because feelings hurt.

…

The next day, Sirius packs up his sketchbook and a handful of pencils and sets off walking. He had found an old map the night before, and there was a lake marked on it, not so far away as to be physically tiring but out of shouting distance of Walburga Black (the woman had some impressive vocal chords – escaping her range was no mean feat.)

 

He walks along the quiet country lanes. Even after a week, he still simmers with the rage of being here against his will. Eventually, he reaches the lake, hidden amongst trees, buried in nature.He could not remember he the last time he had been somewhere so bathed in solitude. Sirius was somewhere between extroversion and introversion, taking absolute joy in being surrounded by others but eventually driven to exhaustion (or annoyance. People drove him mad after too long) and the lake soothed his frayed nerves after a week in the Black house. 

 

Someone else was there, he realized. A heap of clothes lay at the edge, beside a worn old backpack with books and notebooks spilling from it. The familiar feeling of irritation that had been present in his chest recently returned at once.

 

He knew before spotting the sandy head cutting through the mirror of the lake who it was.

Remus Bloody Lupin.

 

Well.

 

Sirius smirked and stripped, because sometimes the best way to fight was to give people exactly what they wanted. He stood at the edge of the lake, waiting for Remus to notice, and when he did, Sirius slid into the water.

It was freezing, shockingly so, and Remus’ eyes on his body made it more intense, somehow, somewhere between discomfort and arousal. Sirius caught his breath, wondering what on earth he was doing.

 

“Black,” Remus growled, swimming closer, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, lips parted in something else.

 

“Lupin”, Sirius returned, mock cheerfully. “Still hate me?”

 

“Naturally.”

 

Sirius stood in the shallow water – it came to just below his waist, the lines of his stomach drawing narrow before the water covered him. Remus blinked water from his eyes.

 

“You can’t just get naked and make me like you. I told you already.”

 

Sirius grins, stretches to his tiptoes, the water definitely indecently low. Maybe he shouldn’t be like this – maybe he makes a show of himself, degrades himself to just a body, but he doesn’t care – the wind on his skin makes him reckless, the thrill of the cold and Remus’ angry eyes doing nothing to convince him otherwise.

 

Sirius has gone beyond looking for fun – he’s looking for anything to fill these long weeks until summer is over, and maybe a rivalry is as good as a love affair. Remus has hungry eyes though – he can’t hide that – so maybe the summer will hold both. Unless Remus kills him. But hey, he’s never died before – that could be interesting.

 

His foot slips on the slime of the lake bottom, and he falls in without grace, head going under into the murky water. He stands, sputtering, hair plastered to his face. Yeah, so maybe he has lost that broodingly attractive edge. The eroticism of the moment is lost. A smirk is tugging at the corner of Remus’ mouth. Sirius shakes the water out of his hair, closer to Padfoot than he usually is in human form.

 

He manages to spray Remus with the water from his hair.

 

“I was just leaving anyway,” Remus says, which is a lie. Sirius grins and wades back to shore. “I’ll walk back with you then – this lake is not so interesting as I’d hoped.”

 

Remus glares. “Can I make it any clearer? Fuck. Off.”

 

“I really don’t think you have a good reason to hate me. Seen as your issue with me regards to how I treat my lovers, and you’ve never been one – I’m really quite courteous about it all.”

 

“Courteous my arse,” Remus says, and Sirius can’t help but notice how wonderful swear words sound in his soft accent. Remus doesn’t have the clipped tones of Sirius’ family – his words are soft and lilting, somewhere between Scottish and English in tone.

Remus climbs out of the lake. He’s wearing swimming shorts. He pulls a t- shirt over his head quickly, but not before Sirius sees the scars that mar his back, a web of raised silver lines.

Remus turns and catches the look on Sirius’ face.

 

“Don’t, Black. Don’t push it.”

 

Sirius dives back under the water and swims out into the calm of the lake. When he pauses and turns his head, Remus is a shadow vanishing into the dark of the woods. Interesting, is what Remus Lupin is.

 

Interesting is so much more dangerous than beautiful.

…

Sirius’ mother is screaming at him. In her hand is a magazine full of semi-naked muggle girls. It’s a rather comical picture – Walburga Black, with her thick eyebrows and demure dresses and face screwed into rage, gesturing wildly at an image of breasts.

 

Sirius does his best to contain a smirk. He used to be more afraid of his parents curses, back when some part of him believed that they were right and he was abnormal and wrong. But that was before he discovered Hogwarts and James and the joy of kissing boys. His love of those things outweighed any familial loyalty.

 

“not tolerate…” Sirius stares out of the window – two birds are mating outside. “filth” They are really going at it. Even the birds are having more fun than he is. What kind of life is he living these days? No kind of life, that is what. “Out of my sight” Sirius looks up. His mother is quite red in the face by this point, and has ripped the magazine in half (shame, Sirius thinks. He liked that one.)

 

“Are you done, Mother?”

 

“Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

 

“Technically it’s father’s house,” Sirius points out, though they both know Walburga wears the metaphorical trousers in the relationship, even if her name isn’t on the deeds. She storms towards him and shoves him to the door, fingers like cruel claws in his shoulder blades. Sirius swallows, almost stumbling. The shouting he can take, but the physical aggression never stops bothering him. Maybe because it is, thankfully, rarer.

 

His Mother shoves him out of the door and slams it behind him, locking each bolt loudly. Well.

There’s no telling when she’ll let him back in. He doesn’t bother waiting to find out, instead setting off walking in no particular direction. All too soon, the clouds burst and rain begins to pour, soaking him to the skin in minutes.

 

He misses James. Sirius eventually slides down and leans his back against a gnarled tree trunk, resting his head on his knees, the limp curls of his hair hanging down on either side, blocking out the grey light. His teeth chatter dully. This place hasn’t quite got the hang of summer.

Thoughts begin to swirl through his mind. He is faced with the choice of becoming lost in his mind or being fully aware of how freezing he is.He hates his family. Everyone thinks they hate their parents at some point, but Sirius Black is fairly sure he means it. Admittedly, at the ripe old age of sixteen, his experience of hatred is not yet fully formed, but it is safe to say his dislike for his parents is far above his dislike of anyone else he knows, including the toe rag that is Severus Snape.

 

He lies on the ground, figuring he can’t get any wetter, and stares up at the spots of grey sky between the green leaves of the trees above. He likes looking at the sky. Eventually he calms down, and the shadows of doubt and self-loathing planted by his mother’s ire fade to a dull ache. He gets up from the ground and walks towards town – there are a handful of muggle coins in his pocket so he should be able to track down a coffee at least.

…

Remus’ shop is front of him before he realizes he has walked there, and his hand is pushing the door open enough to ring the bell before he can stop it. Idiot. He was hardly going to get a warm welcome here. Though it was quite warm in the bookshop. Shit. Maybe he was going to get pneumonia.

 

“je suis dans le dos,” calls Remus’ voice, in a slightly affected French accent. Sirius tries to remember his childhood French lessons and fails. Where did Remus learn? Hogwarts isn’t big on languages unless they are dead or magical.

 

“It’s Sirius,” Sirius says, kicking himself afterwards – he could have snuck out without Remus knowing it was him.

 

There is a dramatic, long suffering sigh and Remus emerges from the stacks. His sleeves are rolled up, showing several inches of pale skin, delicately spattered with freckles and dusted with fine hairs.

Sirius is all too aware of what a mess he looks.

 

“What happened to you?” Remus asks, cross.

 

“Rain,” Sirius says glumly.

 

“Don’t drip on the floor. I just cleaned it.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Well? Why are you here? To wind me up?”

 

Sirius just shrugs. Who knows what he is doing bothering yet another person who hates him. 

 

“You’re not being nearly as much of an asshole as usual.”

 

“Eh,” Sirius says, and turns to leave before he makes an absolute fool of himself.

 

“You’re just going to leave?”

 

Sirius doesn’t respond, because his words have run out and his feelings are written over his face.

“Wait. What’s wrong?”

 

He tries to pull up a lie, a flirtatious smirk, a glare, anything. But he is drained, somehow.

He didn’t know his mother could still get to him like this. She’s bad – she’s always been bad – but she’s never thrown him out of the door like a dog before, certainly not for an offence as slight as muggle breasts.

 

Remus places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He jumps at the contact, warm and too gentle against his roughened nerves. He stops still, breathes in, breathes out. Remus doesn’t move.

 

“I-“

 

“Just sit down,” Remus says quietly, gesturing towards the back of the shop. Dully, Sirius follows him and sinks into a squashy armchair that feels as though it has held a hundred generations of readers.

Remus disappears through a door, leaving Sirius in the soft shadows of the bookshop. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly. He could fall asleep right here, slip through summer in this armchair, the scent of books and the quiet whisper of Remus’ footsteps the only interruption to oblivion.

 

Remus presses something hot into his hands, and Sirius opens an eye.

 

“Tea,” Remus says, “Doesn’t fix much, but it helps.”

 

Sirius looks up at him, confusion running through him. “Thank you,” he says, afraid to sound too sincere in case there is some cruel trick waiting. That doesn’t seem to be Remus’ style though.

 

“I didn’t put salt in it, if that’s what you are worried about,” Remus mutters, a little of his irritation returning. Good. That was good, familiar. Remus jumps up to sit on the counter, shoving a pile of papers aside to make room for himself. He crosses his legs and leans on his elbows, watching Sirius sip the tea. It’s good tea. Hot, milky, just a little sweet. He’s never been a big tea drinker, but he wonders why now – it’s like a hug from the inside out. He could get addicted.

 

There’s silence for several minutes, Remus watching, Sirius drinking. Remus doesn’t hide the fact that he is staring, and maybe his openness is what stops Sirius from feeling uncomfortable. His gaze is exploratory, searching, but not intrusive. He senses that Remus is looking for answers, but that he is not jumping to conclusions. Curiosity, not judgement, drive his eyes.

 

“Do you need answers?” Sirius says at last. Remus just shrugs.

 

“I don’t expect you to confide in me. I’ve not exactly been friendly.”

 

Sirius doesn’t deny it – he can’t forget Remus’ harsh and ill informed judgement of his character so soon, even if some of it was founded on truth.

 

“Family are assholes,” Sirius says simply. He doesn’t elaborate. He can barely put his jumbled feelings into thoughts, let alone words. The best explanation would be a guttural scream of rage and agony, he thinks. Suitably melodramatic.

Remus nods, considering.

 

“I am curious,” he says slowly, “Why that would lead you here. And also why you are so wet.”

 

“Mother kicked me out like a dog,” Sirius snorts at the irony of it. If only she knew. “And it is raining outside.”

 

Remus doesn’t flinch and his features show no judgement or pity – Sirius is impressed with the control he has over his face. “Can you go back?” he says, quietly.

 

“She’ll unlock the door eventually. I think.”

 

How odd it is to talk of such things so ordinarily. Like it’s the weather or your plans for dinner. This isn’t how it normally goes. There’s normally rage and sympathy and awkward attempts at hugs.

Not Remus. Sirius looks at the other boy with a new respect – his pragmatism lets Sirius view the situation objectively, rather than emotionally.

 

Remus inhales slowly, pausing before he speaks. Sirius looks at the furrow of his eyebrows, the tense line of his jaw. He is uncomfortable. “Do you… do you need somewhere to stay?”

 

Sirius can see that Remus is hoping he says no, and he can see that Remus is twisted with guilt over this fact. He is surprised to find that it hurts that Remus still doesn’t like him, though he has no clue why some part of his subconscious would think that Remus discovering that Sirius has a she-devil for a mother would give him a fonder opinion of Sirius.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius says, feeling like he should leave.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Quite sure, Lupin.”

 

Remus nods. “I have to get back to work but… you can stay, if you like.”

 

Sirius wants to say no, but he also doesn’t want to go back outside in the rain.

 

“Anything I can help with?”

 

“Can you read French?”

 

“Barely.”

 

“Can you alphabetise?”

 

“I think I can manage that.”

 

“Follow me then.”

They walk through a corridor of books, finally reaching a small wooden door. This inside of the shop is larger than the outside, Sirius realizes, though given its obvious magical associations, this really shouldn’t come as a surprise.

 

Remus pulls the door open, and pulls a torch from his pocket. Sirius stares at the muggle object. He has never held one before.

 

Remus turns and catches his astonished expression in the torches beam. Remus laughs.

 

“Pureblood. I forget.” He hands the torch to Sirius, who holds it with some amazement, lighting up the corridor.

 

“You’re not a pureblood?”

 

“I’m something,” Remus says, which is no kind of answer at all.

 

“A wand is better,” Sirius says into the quiet.

 

“Not when you are underage,” Remus says, a smile in his words. They climb a dark staircase, narrow and steep enough that Sirius’ face is only inches from Remus’ back. Sirius can smell him – the clean scent of skin, paper, a hint of something else – magic, something wilder than ordinary wizardry. Padfoot rears his head in Sirius’ chest, interested. Something, indeed. Sirius vows to figure out Remus secret. After all, Remus already knows plenty of his.

 

They eventually enter into a small room, grey with the light of a rainy day. Boxes are stacked haphazardly across the floor, and shelves of books and papers line every wall except the one containing the window.

 

“Take a box, put it in order – here, take these” Remus hands him a stack of cardboard dividers, a neat black letter printed on the corner of each one.

 

“What do I sort it by?”

 

“Author,” Remus says.

 

“So this is your work experience?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And in return for this borderline torture and sensory deprivation you get..?”

 

“Access to one of the oldest personal collections of magical literature on the planet,” Remus says with a grin.

 

“I thought this was a bookshop,” Sirius says.

 

“This is where he sells his duplicates.”

 

“Merlin.”

 

Remus laughs and sits down, cross legged, beside a box. “I should have made more tea,” he says, regretful. Sirius feels a smile spread across his face as he sits beside an identical box three feet away.

 

“Is any of this interesting, then?” Sirius asks, peering at the first box of papers.

 

“Not especially. It’s mainly essays on magical literature and unpublished manuscripts. The owner of this place is something of a hoarder, and a disorganised one at that. My task is to sort this place out. I’ve already sorted the boxes by genre – now it’s alphabet, and then I’ll file them.”

 

Sirius probably couldn’t organise his way out of a paper bag, let alone bring rationality to this chaos of words. It seems logic and rationality are key traits of Remus. There must be chaos under that quiet control somewhere though – he’s seen glimpses of it in Remus’ rage.

 

They fall into silence, the rustling of papers and the tap of rain on the window the only sounds. Sirius squints at bad French handwriting and tries to decipher titles until his eyes hurt. Eventually, he forgets the heavy feelings in his heart, forgets almost everything, slipping into the meditative state of repetition, only breaking out of if when Remus prods him. He looks up. Dusk is falling – the room is dark. How had he been managing to read?

 

“I think that’s enough for the day,” Remus says.

 

“I – I should go,” Sirius says. He doesn’t want to leave paper cocoon of the room.

 

Remus nods. He doesn’t speak as they return to the shop. Light from the lamps on the wall make the room seem sunny compared to the previous gloom. Sirius squints, adjusting.

 

“Here,” Remus says, offering something to Sirius. Sirius takes it – a jacket, soft and worn, with a large hood. Sirius tries to hand it back.

 

“It’s still raining. I have a room upstairs.”

 

“I’ll return it then.”

 

Remus nods and walks Sirius to the door. Sirius steps out in the rain – still torrential, even after all these hours. He turns back and sees Remus standing on the threshold of the shop – he only notices now that he isn’t wearing shoes. Damp spreads from the step into his socks.

 

With a wrench, he turns away from the warmth, and heads out into the night. The jacket is warm, a little long from him on the sleeves. He pulls the hood up and shrinks inside it.

 

He doesn’t even want to touch his feelings for Remus after this afternoon. Conflicted doesn’t begin to cover it.

All he knows is that the thought of returning the jacket fills him with anticipation and embarrassment all at once. Sirius doesn’t know how Remus will react when he has returned to sunshine and smiles. 


	2. portraits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius returns reluctantly home. Remus plagues his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if there are a few grammar mistakes - I have procrastinated horribly and I'm going away in a few hours and I didn't want to delay the update, so here it is. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated :)

 

  **** ****

The door had been unlocked when he arrived home. Shame crawled through his skin as he slunk through the door and crept up the stairs to his room. Shame at himself, for always returning, and always hurting, for not being strong enough to stop it. Shame at not even being able to run from it.

Regulus is sat in his room when he opens the door. Sirius kicks off his boots and sits on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Can’t you just be normal?” Regulus asks, like it’s Sirius’ fault. Sirius tries to quell the rage that rises in him at the words.

“I’m not the abnormal one. Mother’s a freak, and you know it.”

“Don’t.”

“Or what? You’ll tell her what I said? It won’t matter – it won’t hurt her. She’s heartless.”

“That’s not true, Sirius.”

“She’s just pinning her hopes of an heir on you because she thinks I’m a poofter destined to shame the family. It’s not love, Reg. She doesn’t feel that.”

Regulus doesn’t look at Sirius, but he can see the thin line of his brother’s mouth. Regulus is the thing that hurts most about his family.

They used to be close, back when it was both of them against the tyranny of their parents. Orion and Walburga had always been strict, and Walburga had been a screamer since the day she was born.

But when Sirius got older, it changed. Because he didn’t grow out of childhood mischievousness, and the longer he spent at Hogwarts, the further he drifted from his parent’s ideals.

There were fights over clothing, posters, muggle politics, muggleborns, the rights of magical creatures, kissing girls, kissing boys – everything Sirius did, there was an issue with.

At some point, Walburga seemed to give up on him. And that is when she got to work on Regulus.

It’s a little ironic, but Sirius is more like his mother than his father. His father shares Walburga’s views, but he is much quieter about it, swept along by the volume of his wife’s lungs, at least on matters pertaining to parenthood.

Walburga will not back down, and she will not be broken.

Nor will Sirius Black. And maybe Walburga saw this in her son, because she had set her sights on Regulus as the man to continue the most noble and ancient house of Black.

It did worry Sirius slightly that he was the rightful heir, and therefore stood in the way of his Mother and her plans. He didn’t think she would kill him, but disinheritance was a distinct possibility. He’d made it his plan to leave before she kicked him out for good.

“Just try, Sirius. For the summer. You only have two years left at Hogwarts – one more summer after this, and then you’ll be gone until she dies, I expect. Simple.”

“Two years? A day under the control of that woman feels like a century.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s only because you wind her up.”

“Don’t you want all of this, anyway? If she disowns me, it’s yours.”

Regulus is silent for a moment. “If she disowns you, I can never speak to you again.”

“Don’t fancy even a little bit of rebellion, Reg?”

“I’ve seen how it’s worked out for you.”

His brother is sat on the other side of the room, in an old armchair. The swathe of carpet between them may as well be an ocean. Regulus sits straight, stiff and regal; he could be any one of the portraits lining the castle’s corridors. In the mirror, Sirius catches a glimpse of his bedraggled reflection – wild dark hair, dark eyes, Remus’ jacket, all worn and patched – he sees what his mother sees; a boy who doesn’t belong.

“There’s no future for me here, Regulus. I can’t – I won’t – force myself into a life I hate.”

Regulus says nothing, sitting a moment longer before leaving. He’s still so young – only fourteen – yet he wears his gangly limbs and awkwardness more comfortably than Sirius has ever worn his own skin. How wonderful that must feel, to have your outsides be a natural extension of your insides.

He’d envy his brother, if he couldn’t see the poison spreading through him. In a few years, Regulus would no longer speak to him, and Sirius would not want him to anyway.

…

Before his family wakes, Sirius slips out of the house. He carries a sketchbook, and a handful of pencils in his jacket pocket (he is not risking pneumonia again.) He buys a baguette from the bakery – still warm – and walks until he finds somewhere quiet and dry enough to sit.

Sirius only discovered that he liked to draw a year or so ago. Someone had left a sketchbook and a stick of charcoal out in the Gryffindor common room, and, bored, Sirius had sat down and absently sketched the fireplace.

He liked the way his eyes and hands thought for him, the constant motion preventing his perpetual restlessness, and the time passing without the need to look at the clock.

It had turned out that he was actually pretty decent at it. He’d purchased a handful of materials at the next Hogsmeade weekend.

Sometimes he drew his feelings, wild strokes swooping over the paper, eyes blinking out of shadows, screaming mouths and soaring birds, flowers blooming from bleeding hearts, a stone piercing the calm water of a lake.

When he really needed to escape, he drew what he could see, losing himself in the act of observation, becoming the subject. He had a whole sketchbook devoted to Hogwarts – turrets and doors and staircases, armour and ancient artefacts, light pouring through windows onto dusty books.

Now, he absently traced his pencil across the paper, looking around for inspiration.

Remus face drifts into his mind, innocent and innocuous. And it stays. He tries to draw the things in front of him; a broken glass bottle, a handful of dead leaves, a living sunset of flowers, but none of it sticks.

His hand aches to draw the tousled strands of Remus’ hair, the fine lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the crinkle of skin at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. He hadn’t realized he’d been looking, but now he can call up Remus face like he can call up the window in his room in Gryffindor tower.

So he gives in. Sirius Black has many strengths, but will power is not one of them, especially not where boys are concerned.

Remus’ face looks back at him from the paper, frowning at him with distaste. He’d wanted to draw him smiling, maybe, looking a little friendlier, but it felt dishonest. He already felt slight creepy for drawing him in the first place, like he was trespassing. Not that that made any sense, but things rarely made sense in his head.

…

The shop was empty when Sirius returned the following day, jacket slung over his arm. Remus was probably in the little room upstairs. It was possible he’d come down at the jingle of the bell.

Sirius paused for only a second, considering his options. He could wait, and face Remus. Maybe things would be different. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Or he could fold the jacket on the chair and leave, fantasies of a summer romance intact alongside his pride.

He chooses the latter, leaving the coat and hurrying back to the door.

“Sirius?”

Damn. He turns, almost guiltily.

“Er… your coat,” he says, somewhat lamely.

“Thank you.”

There is a pause, and Sirius tries to remember how to flirt. How has he managed to kiss so many people whilst being this useless at communication?

Probably his stunning good looks. Which don’t work on Remus Lupin. Sadly.

Remus looks equally uncomfortable, but that’s probably got more to do with remembering what a mess Sirius had been the other day and less to do with his lack of game. Sirius hopes he is not pitying him – he doesn’t think he could take seeing pity in Remus’ eyes.

“Well… if you’re ever bored, I’ve got plenty of filing,” Remus says eventually. He bites his lip after speaking, doesn’t make eye contact. Sirius heart jumps. It seems like an offer of… something. Maybe not friendship, but maybe a chance at it.

“Um. OK,” Sirius says. “See you.” He hurries out, cursing himself. Idiot. What the hell is wrong with him? It’s embarrassing and all – not Remus knowing about his god awful family, but Remus knowing how said family makes him feel – but he should really not be this hopelessly tongue tied.

Next time he sees Remus, and there will no doubt be a next time, he will pull himself together.

He realizes as he walks that he might have come across as a little rude back in the shop, and he squirms at the memory. He hopes Remus doesn’t think he was shutting him out. Even though he probably should. You know, because he is an emotional mess and Remus is stupidly attractive and sexually confused and normally Sirius is absolutely great with casual but maybe, just maybe, Remus is different.

Sirius doesn’t think he could kiss Remus just once.

…

His Mother is on the warpath when he gets home – he sees her coming down the corridor, a hurricane clothed in human skin. He’ll not reach his room without being blown apart.

The good thing about castles is that they have many rooms. Much like Hogwarts, the Black Château has had centuries of magical inhabitants. Admittedly, many of these inhabitants favoured hiding slime and murderous artefacts in their hidden rooms rather than magical bathtubs and immortal singing birds, but Sirius will take what he can get.

He slip through a door as silently as he can manage, willing it to close without her noticing. Walburga isn’t terribly observant anyway – she normally shouts at whatever is in front of her, ignoring anything peripheral. Unless she sees Sirius, of course.

The worst is when she sees Sirius and his father in the same room. She has a hard time deciding which one to scream at then.

He leans against the back of the door, fumbling to bolt it shut. He watches himself from the outside, a boy on the cusp of adulthood, hiding like a kicked puppy, breath to ragged to appear fearless.

He hates himself for this.

The room is small, stone walled, like the rest of the castle. There is a window high on the wall, sunlight pouring through it. Too high to be an exit, near enough to be frustrating. There is hardly any furniture, save for a single wooden chair that looks about as comfortable as the bare stone floor. There is a small fireplace with ashes of an indeterminate age sitting in the grate.  

He can’t see any purpose of the room, save for a place for one person to hide. Maybe that is what it is – a shitty room of requirement. So much of this castle is a poor emolation of his true home, a shadow of Hogwarts and all that he loves.

And how he misses it, every brick and window and door, soaked in magic purer than his own, knowledge greater than his comprehension, history that dates back before the Blacks and their mouldering hearts.

Sure, there are the dark parts of Hogwarts, the basements and dungeons and rooms where wizards played with dangerous magic, curse marks on walls and shadows that follow you, but it’s balanced. There’s a James for every Walburga. Maybe even two.

The sun creates a circle on the floor, and Sirius lies in it, much like a cat, staring up at the window. The flagstones are a little warm beneath his back, and he is abruptly grateful to the shitty little room. Maybe this castle was built by a Black who didn’t quite fit, much like him.

There’s a tapestry in the living room, back home, with the names and faces of every member of his family, dating back generations. Many of them have been burned off, leaving only a black hole to represent them. Sirius can only remember one person being struck off in his lifetime – his aunt, Andromeda. She married a muggle born wizard.

There were others though. Sirius father didn’t speak to him all that much, but when he was younger, he remembered his father sitting him in front of the tapestry, and going through all the names. He spoke of the still visible members with pride, telling the young Sirius of their accomplishments, stories of cruelty and persecution told with a smile. He used to pause on each of the burned members, and he’d turn to Sirius, with his thick frown of eyebrows, and tell him their stories, disgust evident in his tone.

When Sirius was five, he hated every one of those burned members, the blackened Blacks.

But now, he clung to their stories.

There was Iola Black, who married a muggle, Cedrella, who married Septimus Weasley, a blood traitor and probably quite a nice guy, if Sirius’ knowledge of Weasleys was anything to go by, Phineas Black, for supporting muggle rights, Marius Black, for being born a squib, and of course Andromeda.

Sirius had known since the sorting hat cried Gryffindor that one day his name would be the next to be burned off. And he knew that any member of his family who showed him sympathy or sided with him would swiftly follow.

He’d imagined his mother doing it even before she threatened to, the rage in her eyes as she pointed her wand at the ancient document of his awful heritage, and the triumph in her eyes as his name went up in smoke and the tapestry once more only contained the names of those she deemed worthy.

It would be soon. He couldn’t last much longer, and he would run before she kicked him out – he would not be thrown out of the door by Walburga Black again. No, he’d leave with his head held high and only curses on his tongue.

No regrets.

A voice in his head whispers about Regulus and he silences it. There is little he can do for his younger brother now. He only makes life worse for him.

Sirius doesn’t notice that there are tears on his face until he tastes them, and he wipes them away angrily. Enough hiding. He leaves the room, letting the door bang shut behind him.

His Mother is nowhere to be seen.

He storms up to his room, burying himself beneath the covers, and doesn’t move. He wonders how long he can stay here before someone forces him out.

Not long.

Regulus knocks on the door and pushes it open.

“Dinner, Sirius. I suggest you make yourself presentable.”

Sirius mutters something rude and leaves the room – he’ll show his face, but he’ll be damned if he’ll do another thing to change himself for his parents.

“Deigning to show your face, are you?” his father says as he enters the room. Sirius slides into a seat at the end of the table, as far from his parents as he can get. His mother looks at him with narrow eyes. Sirius looks back, waiting.

“You’re lucky we still let you eat at this table. We all know you’re going to let the family down soon enough.”

“Haven’t I done that already, mother?”

She sniffs, takes a bite of steak, gathers her thoughts into arrows.

It’s going to be soon. Maybe the holiday was a disguise. To lure him into thinking things could change. Or so that he’d have to suffer the shame of finding his own way back to England and school.

Fear flickers through him – he doesn’t know what he is going to do, where he is going to go. Mrs Potter would take him in, without question. Oh, how he longs to be with them, James and his kind, loving, unconditional family.

Sometimes he is sick with envy towards James. Mostly he can’t quite comprehend what it is he is missing.

“You’re on the road to it. Like you’re aunt – I remember Andromeda, how it all started. The odd comment here, the odd note from a mudblood there. It seemed innocuous at first, a phase, maybe a little rebellion. But she ran off with that… that – tell him, Orion.”

“Terrible man. Muggleborn. Barely a magical bone in his body – I don’t know how he got into Hogwarts – they’ll let anyone in these days. Corrupted my sister, he did, must have put a charm on her, surely, got her pregnant when she was barely out of school – disgusting”

“-A charm? Please, Orion, Andromeda was rotten to the core. We shouldn’t have been as surprised as we were. Well, make no mistake about it, young man – we’ll not be surprised if you run off with some muggle bitch. Can’t control yourself, you can’t. What use is an heir with no self control? None, that’s what.”

Sirius sits straight in his chair. His plate is still empty. His stomach growls, loud enough to be heard, but he doesn’t reach for any food. Beneath the table, his fists are clenched hard enough to break the skin of his palms. The pain brings relief, turns tumultuous emotion into a calm burning sensation. He can deal with this. A few more weeks. When he’d back at Hogwarts, he’ll sort something else out.

Regulus reaches for a dish in the long silence, the metal scrape of his spoon on the ceramic bowl as harsh as Walburga’s voice. She looks at him sharply, but says nothing. No – to make her words towards Sirius truly effective, she must work to favour Regulus more than usual. Sirius knows her games, knows how it goes.

“That’s a promising wizard,” Walburga says. “Isn’t he promising, Orion?”

“A strong lad. Healthy appetite too – that’s good to see. Did you hear he’s dating these days, Walburga?”

Walburga’s eyebrows shoot up, almost reaching her receeding hairline. Sirius has to bite his lip to hide a smirk – his father’s done it now.

“Dating? Why haven’t I heard about this, Regulus? What are you hiding? Not a mudblood, of course, surely not – you’d never do that to me” she pauses to glare at Sirius. “Surely not a Weasley – they are almost worse than mudbloods. Should lose their pureblood status. A flaming disgrace.”

“A Bulstrode, Mother. Nothing serious.”

Walburga sniffs again, with approval this time. “Not the brightest bunch, I have to say, but it could be worse. Don’t get attached – I’ve got plans for you, Regulus. I need one of my sons to produce an heir and my eldest is a faggot.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, more irritated than hurt now. “Please, Mother. You kicked me out yesterday because you found porn in my room – featuring breasts.”

“I’ve heard the stories. I know that was just a deception, part of your cunning plans to mislead me into thinking it’s just muggles you like. But I know the truth, Sirius – you are a deviant in every way, and I wish I did not have to call you my son.”

Sirius stands up quietly and leaves the room.

Walburga screams for awhile in the dining room. Sirius doesn’t hear the words. He goes to his room, quickly, and retrieves his wand from its hiding place. He pulls on a jacket and gathers up his sketchbook and what little money he has lying around.

Then he leaves. It’s a new moon, pitch dark outside. He cannot see his hand in front of his face, let alone his feet. It’s a warm night, luckily, so he stumbles as far from the house as he can. When his human sense fail him, he gives in to the longing in his chest, and slips out of his skin and into Padfoots.

The world simplifies – he is still Sirius, but masked by instinct. The instinct says run, so he does. He runs until his paws ache, until his muscles protest at every stride. He runs until the scents around him are utterly unfamiliar.

Somewhere in the forest, something is howling, lonely and long. Padfoot tips his head to the sky and echoes it.

When his body is as lost as his mind, he gives up, collapsing beneath a tree. Padfoot sleeps both better and worse than his human self. His mind is not plagued with his Mother’s words, but his body is on alert all night. Animals never truly rest. Sirius hasn’t had a good nights sleep since Hogwarts though, so it makes little difference.

He wakes early, into the freezing grey morning, and sets of walking back in the direction of the town.

He’ll return. He has no choice. He’ll return and he’ll be meek and quiet for the rest of summer, but he needs some time to be himself, away from the shadow of his mother. A day, maybe. A day of freedom. A day without reason or restraint.

He goes to find Remus.

…

It’s stupidly early, even after his walk – the sky still has the blue grey tinge of dawn, the sun not yet visible. The bakery across the street from the bookshop is not open, though there is a light in the window. They were up even before Sirius.

The step of the shop is cold beneath him, but he sits down anyway. He considers waiting as Padfoot, but that would only end up making things weird. He wonders about the mysterious, unseen owner of the bookshop. Hopefully he maintains his reclusive streak and doesn’t find a bedraggled boy on his doorstep.

“Sirius?” Remus’ head pokes out of a window high above him. “What the hell are you doing here? And why – why are you always wet?”

“It’s a rainy summer.”

“One minute.”

Remus vanishes back into his room. Sirius wonders why he is awake so early. He stays on the step, waiting, wondering what this strange thing is between them.

The door behind him is yanked open, and he nearly falls over with the shock of it.

Remus sits down on the step beside him, close enough for Sirius to feel the heat radiating off of him. He’d always though Remus would be the kind of person to be perpetually cold, but maybe he was wrong.

He glances at Remus, and inhales sharply.

“What the hell- “

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” Remus interrupts, before Sirius can comment fully on his ragged appearance. Sirius shrugs.

“I was running. There were branches.”

“Sounds like a stupid thing to do.”

“Says you. Who the hell did that to you?”

That referred to the mess of scratches on Remus’ face, the blood cut across his knuckles, pink with healing, and the tear in his ear.

Remus shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that,” he says simply.

Sirius is abruptly angry, though he knows it is not right to be so. “You know,” he says. “You know about me, the skeletons in my closet.”

“Skeletons that have come out of the closest and broken you even more, if your presence here is anything to go by,” Remus hisses, rage in his voice. Not directed at Sirius.

“Don’t.”

“Then we seem to be at an impasse, Mr Black, if neither of us will speak. It’s not worth talking of the weather – it’s hardly noteworthy.”

Sirius looks at him again, doesn’t bother to hide his stare this time. He considered Remus to be attractive before, in a refined, restrained kind of way. He was not restrained now. His normal control was barely in place – Sirius could see it the nervous tapping of his fingers, the chewing of his lip, the way his eyes darted back and forth, to him and away, him, away away away and until Remus was staring at the ground, red blushing across his cheeks, angry as a slap.

“Sorry,” Sirius whispers.

“Don’t stare like that. I look a mess. Get over it.”

“No – I wasn’t – not at…” Sirius sighs, wondering what to say. “Not at the cuts, OK? I was noticing – thinking – you are beautiful,” he finished finally, awkwardly. Idiot. You can’t just go around telling guys they are beautiful.

“I’m not, and I’m not going there with you.”

“Because I’m a guy?”

“Because you are a colossal mess, and I’m probably a bigger one.”

Sirius shrugs. “Maybe that’s the best combination.”

“Maybe we’d tear each other apart.”

Sirius thinks of the scars that criss cross Remus’ back. Someone has already done that.

“How’d you know I was down here?” he asks, changing the subject before it’s taken too far.

“I smelt you,” Remus says, without thinking. Sirius turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Kidding.”

Sirius eyebrows remain upon their lofty forehead perch.

“I’ll figure you out, Remus Lupin.”

“I’ve already figured you out.”

Sirius grins. “No one’s figured me out. I’m utterly unpredicatable.”

“You’re thinking about how surprised I’d be if you kissed me right now. The answer – not very.”

Remus is correct, and Sirius is surprised.

“Is that permission then?” Sirius says, only half joking.

“Absolutely not.”

“Do you have more filing to do today?”

Remus shakes his head. “Day off. I was going to go to the lake.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s something.”

“I’ll take something. Let’s go.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Do you plan anything? No, obviously not, or you wouldn’t always be soaking wet and on my doorstep.”

Sirius shakes out his hair like a dog, laughing at Remus’ distaste.

“Wait here. I need swimming shorts, a towel, and food. Maybe a book.”

“What do you need all that for? Just your skin and the wind, that’s my philosophy.”

“I’ve got a spare pair of shorts I’ll lend you,” Remus says. “I have no desire to see you’re scrawny arse again.”

“Again! It was the front last time! And that’s just rude! I am I magnificent specimen of masculinity.”

“And who told you that?” Remus asks, stepping back inside.

Sirius sits spluttering on the step. The outrage.


	3. secrets and hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius puts a sticking plaster on his relationship with his family, Remus introduces him to the world or lord of the rings, and another secret is learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about typo's - this is unedited because I suck. Hope you like it :)

Remus doesn’t speak on the way to the lake. Not used to a silent companion, Sirius has to keep biting his tongue to prevent him from making stupid comments about stupid things. James never shuts up, always cracking some joke or telling a story that is almost certainly made up. His family, of course, are either fighting each other or fighting him. And the other people he spends extended periods of time with don’t speak, but that is normally because they are attached to his mouth.

Sirius wonders if his relationships with other humans are unhealthy. Even with James, who was without a doubt the best person in his life, it wasn’t exactly normal. Maybe a little co-dependent.

He thinks about Remus, before this summer, judging him from afar. He wonders if the judgments were right. But he did what he wanted, and only with people who wanted the same thing, so he didn’t see what the problem was.

Maybe it looked different if you didn’t do things casually. Remus didn’t seem like someone who did casual. He didn’t seem like someone who did anything, too be honest. Sirius couldn’t remember a single scandal or rumour involving Remus, except for the initial curiosity over his scars in first year. People got used to them though, and Remus faded.

Sirius glances at him now, relaxed and at ease as he walks, and wonders. Surely the silence and anonymity at school was deliberate? The past few days had shown him a side to Remus that was anything but shy and reticent. He was not dull – he had a wicked tongue, and was surprisingly perceptive. He was hiding something, and he’d made himself invisible in order to succeed.

Well, too bad Sirius had seen him.

“What are you looking for here then?” Sirius asks.

“The lake?”

“No, I mean the library. No one willingly files papers for access to books unless they are looking for information on something, and it must be pretty specific, if Hogwarts doesn’t cover it.”

Remus looks away.

“Another facet of the secret that is Remus Lupin,” Sirius guesses.

“I can’t tell you what I’m researching. It’s not... you wouldn’t… I can’t, OK?”

“Isn’t it lonely? The secrets?”

“Aren’t we all lonely, really?” Remus says softly.

Sirius elbows him. “Don’t be so glum. Look, the sun is out – I’ll be shirtless practically the whole day.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “What a treat.”

“You’re really going to damage my self-esteem you know.”

Remus grins. “I think I’ll just bring your ego down to a healthy size. I’ll do that for you, as a favour.”

“You’re too kind, really.” Sirius replies. He looks away, hiding a smile. They are, unmistakably, flirting. And Remus isn’t pulling away. Sirius doesn’t know what Remus’ reasons for keeping his distance are, but perhaps it’s less to do with him being in the closet and more to do with the something else that they keep dancing around.

That shouldn’t seem like a good thing, given that Sirius has no clue what Remus is hiding, but he’s kissed enough guys in denial over their feelings to know he doesn’t want to dive into the waters of sexual confusion with someone he might actually like.

…

They are floating, face up, on the still surface of the lake. The water is freezing, but the sun is warm on Sirius face and neck. Occasionally the water ripples against him, small currents from the movements of Remus’ hands, a caress without touch that makes him shiver.

“You could tell me, you know,” Sirius says quietly, staring at the clouds drifting overhead. “This summer – this place – can’t you feel that it’s apart from the rest of the world?” He didn’t know what he meant until he said the words, and then they made sense. Bécherel was a place out of time, a frozen village of fantasy and history. It was so far removed from home – both the magical world of Hogwarts and the bustle of 1970’s London – that it seemed as if his other life may not exist.

And he had no one but Remus to tell secrets too here.

“I couldn’t,” Remus replies.

“OK, I’ll tell you a secret then.”

“Go on.”

“I like boys.”

Remus laughs, splashing water at him. “So do I.”

“What!”

“That was hardly a secret, Sirius.”

“For me or for you?”

“Either.”

“Well. I like girls as well.”

“Still not a ground breaking revelation. I don’t.”

“Then… when you said “I’m not like that” what did you mean?”

Remus is quiet. “I mean… I’m not like that. I’m not – not casual, not serious, not – not anything. I can’t be with anyone, Sirius. It’d be wrong.”

“That sounds silly.”

“It’s not. If you knew.”

“Which I don’t.”

“If you knew, you wouldn’t be here. You’d run from me.”

Sirius nudges Remus’ toes with his own. Electric.

“I don’t think I would,” he says, honesty thick in his voice. He wants to right himself, so he can see Remus’ face, all fine lines and tousled wet hair, eyes as grey as an English sky, a faint promise of blue around the edges.

“You would.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I’m really, really clever.”

“Not if you believe what you are saying, you’re not.”

“How can you say, when you don’t know?”

Sirius does right himself now, treading water and facing Remus. Remus looks back, eyes wide.

“Because I know what it is to be different, and what it is to be rejected. I – I’d never treat someone the way I’ve been treated.”

It hurts to say these things, to talk of his family like this. Like his skin is peeled back, his heart beating under Remus’ watching eyes.

“I cannot. For my own safety, I cannot. I do not hate you anymore, Sirius. I may even like you. But until I know, beyond a doubt, that I can trust you, I cannot say a word to you. Because to entrust you with my secret is to entrust you with my life.”

“Merlin, Lupin! Have you murdered someone?”

“No!”

“Well then, I’m sure I’ll accept whatever it is when you’re good and ready.”

“Right. So you’ll stop asking?”

“I’ll stop asking, but I’ll keep guessing. Does this mean you still won’t kiss me?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Does your brain realize it’s controlled by your penis?”

“Who even says penis? And that is offensive – it is my heart that longs for you… Reemy.”

“Reemy?”

“An adorable pet name.”

“Do you want to drown.”

Sirius grins and hurls himself towards Remus, sending a tidal wave of water towards him. Remus splutters and kicks out, legs colliding with Sirius own, unbalancing them both. Sirius grabs Remus’ shoulder to stop him going under, fingers skidding over scar tissue. Remus gasps, freezing in place. Sirius runs his fingers across Remus’ shoulder, so lightly he can barely feel the skin, a ghost’s touch.

Remus swallows. Sirius dives under the water, swimming away before Remus can push him.

 

…

They lie on the shore, exhausted from swimming. Remus is close – his fingers lie centimetres from Sirius’ own. Sirius thinks it’s deliberate, a desire to be closer and a test of Sirius at the same time.

Maybe Remus only wants him because he is a guy, and because Remus wants someone, anyone. Sirius understands that, the desire for physical closeness above emotional. But he hopes that isn’t true.

It scares him that he hopes that. Scares the hell out of him. But maybe – maybe the fear should be faced. Maybe that’s all he has had in him up to now, fear at letting anyone close enough to reach his heart, lest they take it in their fist and squeeze the life out of it.

When you grow up without love, everything about it is terrifying and confusing. Sirius heart longs for it, whilst his mind whispers that Sirius is incapable of it, that Remus would be just like the rest – when hands lingered over hearts, and lips brushed eyelids, and fingers brushed fingertips, he would run, as he always did.

Not that it was always fear. A large part of Sirius genuinely did enjoy casual relationships. It just wasn’t all of him.

“Favourite school subject?” Remus says suddenly, breaking Sirius thoughts.

“School? What kind of a nerdy question is that?”

“The kind a nerd like me asks,” Remus laughs.

“Transfiguration, then. I’m excellent at it.”

“I’d say prove it, but you can’t.”

Sirius grins at the sky. He could. He pauses.

“Remus?”

“Yes?”

“How do I prove that you can trust me?”

“I’m not sure you can prove trust, Sirius. I suppose – I suppose I have to feel it, and then we find out.”

“Find out what?”

“If you’ll betray me.”

“Spoiler – I won’t.”

“You’re not nearly as much of an asshole as you pretend to be.”

“Damn, you’ve seen right through my disguise,” Sirius says, almost sleepy. “I mean, I can be. I really don’t like most people all that much. They bore me.”

“And I don’t? I’m terribly boring.”

Sirius rolls over, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at Remus. Remus has his eyes closed.

“You’re not boring. You’re puzzling.”

“Then I’ll have to keep my secret till I die, lest you suddenly realize that I am actually boring.”

“It’s more than a secret.”

Remus opens his eyes, surprise spreading over his face at Sirius closeness. His chest heaves up and down. It’s still bare from the lake. Sirius closes his eyes now. If he looks much longer, not touching will become impossible.

“Tell me something about you.” Sirius says, falling back onto his back with a thump.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Books – what’s your favourite book?”

“You don’t ask a book lover their favourite book. It’s like asking a parent to choose between their children.”

A bitter laughs escapes Sirius. “Ha. Should be an easy question then, if my experience is anything to go by.”

“Lord of the Rings,” Remus says eventually.

“What’s that? Is it political? A history book – I know, it’s about those wars that happened in Scotland, right? With all the rich wizards and that muggleborn who made fake rings that made the wearer fall in love with whoever gave it to them?”

Remus turns and looks at him, eyes wide with astonishment, laughter about to explode from his lips.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m always Sirius. That’s an old joke, by the way. I can cross sense of humour of your list of positive attributes.”

“No I mean – have you never heard of the Lord of the Rings?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I just told you. It’s used as a cautionary tale against the innate corruption of muggleborns. I can’t think why that would be your favorite – if your secret is that you are secretly a pureblooded bigot you can fuck off.”

Remus is not trying to hold his laughter in anymore. Sirius, despite his confusion and sudden fear that Remus might have a Walburga buried in the depths of him, can’t help but grin in response. Remus’ laugh is wonderful, free and bubbling, breaking his face open like sun through clouds.

Why, Sirius thought absently, did he obsess over the sky all of the bloody time?

Probably something to do with a bazillion generations of family members being named after stars. And his flair for the dramatic. He should write Remus a poem someday.

No. No he shouldn’t. He should find out what Lord of the Rings was before he made an arse of himself.

Remus pulls himself together and sits up, resting his chin on his knees.

“It’s a muggle book,” he says at last. A – a made up story about a hobbit who has to go on a quest to destroy a magical ring that corrupts the wearer.”

“I’m basically right then – themes of corruption. Gold star for Sirius Black.”

“There’s not really any romance. Mainly killing.”

“What’s a hobbit?”

“It’s a – look, I’ll lend them to you, OK? I have them with me.”

“In English?”

“Yes, in English.”

“I don’t really read…”

“Because wizards, for some daft reason, hardly read or write fiction. The fiction section of Hogwarts has a handful of muggle classics, three children’s comic books and seventeen romance novels involving muscular wizards who can transform into lions.”

“I sense this is a sore point of yours.”

“I just – fiction is wonderful. It’s the ultimate escape. I don’t understand why wizards don’t write anything except biographies and academic books.”

Sirius wishes he knew more about books, so he could keep the debate going – seeing Remus fired up about something that wasn’t Sirius’ many character flaws was quite enjoyable.

“OK. I’ll read it.”

“Do you know how many wizards write under muggle pen names and publish in the muggle world? A lot. How many publish in the wizarding world? Next to none. Ridiculous.”

“Wizards write muggle books?” Sirius says, curious.

“Oh yes. Tons. Jane Austen – witch, Arthur Conan Doyle – wizard, though there were some rumours he was quite hopeless with a wand -, some people even speculate that Shakespeare may have been magical. The desire to write is present in people regardless of the market for it.”

“Do you want to write, Remus?” Sirius asks.

Remus blushes bright red, answering Sirius’ question for him.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I like to draw.”

Remus shrugs.

Sirius realizes he’s not sure anyone actually knows that he draws. He doesn’t show his drawings, and he doesn’t make a show of doing them. The ease with which he shared it with Remus surprises him.

“Do you ever… do you ever want something so bad that it hurts to talk about it, Sirius?”

In his head, Sirius thinks of family, and what he wishes the word meant to him. Outwardly, he simply nods.

They fall quiet, lost in their respective dreams.

“I don’t suppose you thought to pack any food, did you?” Sirius asks, after his stomach growls loudly.

“You’re always going on about what a great specimen of masculinity you are. Go and hunt me a fish or something.”

Sirius laughs. “That’d end with both of us starving to death and the fish laughing.”

“Don’t want to move,” Remus grumbles, burying his face in his shoulder. “S’warm here.”

“I’m starving.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I’ll go without you.”

“Good. I’ll get some peace.”

“Remus,” Sirius whines, fully aware that he sounds utterly piteous. It works – Remus sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, sneaking a glare at him whilst he does so.

Sirius grins. Remus definitely doesn’t hate him anymore.

Sirius wonders about Remus scars as Remus dresses. It seems odd that he makes no effort to hide them from him, after how funny he was about them back when they were in first year.

“Why do you not hide them from me?”

“Hide what?” Remus says, wary.

“Your scars.”

Remus face closes off. “There’s little point hiding what you’ve already seen. And I didn’t mean for you to see them, and I don’t want you to ask.”

“Sorry, Remus. I never meant to intrude, that day.”

“I know that now.”

“Honestly though, you did see my dick so we’re a little bit even.” Sirius says, grinning to show he’s joking.

“Yeah I’d keep that covered if I were you. Far more humiliating than a few scars.”

It’s not a few scars. Not at all. But Sirius doesn’t say that. Instead, he punches Remus in the shoulder, hard enough to force him to retaliate. They push and shove each other whilst they walk, waiting awhile between attacks, trying to knock each other into mud, ditches, or any other awful looking thing they passed.

It was nice to laugh with someone.

 

 

…

As Sirius walks back to his parent’s house, he considers his options.

Scenario number one involves him becoming a stray and hoping the Potter’s take him in. The Potter’s would take him in, but Sirius knows they are too nice to tell him he is being a pain in the ass, so he’d live in fear of being a burden.

Number two is scrape together all the money he can find and try and get a job, so that he can spend the rest of the summer here with Remus. This solution is highly impractical because he doesn’t speak French and has no useful skills except for turning himself into a dog. Sirius knows this, and he wants to deny it, but his rarely used common sense deprives him of his starving artist fantasy.

Number three is to grovel to his parents and pretend to be reformed, and sneak out as much as possible to bother Remus (he ignores any doubts in his head about whether Remus wants to be bothered or not). Then, at a later and more stable date when he’s stranded in the remote depths of France, he’ll figure out a way to leave.

Sadly, he realizes he has to go with the third solution.

The thought of apologising to Walburga makes his skin crawl.

Solution four: Turn into Padfoot, bite Walburga, hope it gets infected, happily return home because she doesn’t trust French doctors.

More likely he’d contract an infection from biting the poisonous old bat. But a boy can dream.

…

“I see you deigned to return,” Walburga says. She’s sitting on a high-backed chair, an antique monstrosity of ugly upholstery, like a queen upon a throne. “You’re lucky the door’s still open.”

“Yes, Mother. I am,” Sirius says. The words are ashy lies in his mouth, sound turning to self loathing that seeps down his throat and settles in the pit of his stomach.

She gives him a narrow eyed look, waiting for the joke. Sirius Black does not agree with his mother.

“I went out, and I did some thinking. And I’ve seen that you are right. I have been misled at Hogwarts, with all these stories of bravery and modern ideas. It has distracted me from what is truly important – self-preservation. And too preserve yourself, you must stand by and protect your family, for blood is the only true bond in this world.”

Sirius takes some satisfaction at the pure shock on his Mother’s face, for once not twisted by rage. She takes a moment to process, and then, “Is this some cruel trick, boy? A ploy to find your way to my heart so that you can choke it?”

Biting his lip to contain his mirth at the idea of anyone finding their way to Walburga’s heart, he remained silent, head bowed in an act of subservience.

“And what of… what of your… deviant relations?”

“I have seen the error of my ways. I shall take the summer as a period of abstinence and meditation. When I return to Hogwarts, I would be happy to date a person of your choosing. I fear these past years have clouded my ability to choose a partner wisely.”

Walburga’s lips are pressed into a thin line.

“And James Potter?”

Sirius swallows.

“James is a pureblood, from an ancient family.”

“The Potter’s should not be classed as such. They are a stain of dishonour upon the good name of purebloods – sympathizers, they are. Enablers. Encouraging an uprising.”

“James is not like them, mother. I – he has tried to persuade me to follow the true path many times. He did not lead my astray.”

Walburga raises a thin, dark brow.

“But if you wish it, I will severe my relations with him.”

Sirius is not a natural liar – his tongue has always been impulsive, shaping words before his brain can catch up. He hates the swirling feeling of dishonesty in him, not because his is lying to his mother, but because he is betraying himself. It feels ignoble, reprehensible. It goes against every ounce of Gryffindor in his body. But it is temporary. And Sirius has learnt that almost anything can be endured, so long as you know when it will be over.

The end of summer. A handful of weeks. Weeks that, if all goes according to plan, will be spent with Remus Lupin and his tousled hair and sky grey eyes. Sirius hopes he is worth this surrender of himself.

“I do not believe you,” Walburga says, “Not yet. I fear this is merely another of your despicable plans, your rebellions against all that is moral and good. However, I pride myself on being a forgiving woman, and I will give you one chance. The next hint you betraying blood, consorting with half breeds or sympathising with mudbloods, and you are out on the street. This is a promise – and I pride myself on my word more than my forgiveness.”

Sirius nods his head and waits quietly.

“Go,” Walburga says. Sirius walks from the room, closing the door behind him. Then he all but runs to his room, slamming the door and curling on his bed, returning to a familiar ball of shame and self-loathing. He imagines James face, if he had seen. A sense of betrayal, of more than his own beliefs, fills him. He feels as though he has betrayed all of the Black’s burned from the tree, the black sheep with whom he felt a rare kinship.

Temporary. This grovelling is temporary.

He has never wanted summer to be over and infinite so badly. It is only the knowledge that Remus will be at Hogwarts that stops his simultaneous desire to leave and stay from being unbearable.

…

He hasn’t seen Remus since the day at the lake – he had to spend yesterday making good on his promise of being reformed, which meant moaning about the abundance of muggleborns, casually praising the sinister movements of the man who called himself Voldemort, and, weirdly, playing chess for four hours straight.

(Sirius will admit that he derived some satisfaction from beating both his Mother and Father.)

Regulus spent the day looking at him with narrowed, hopeful eyes. Regulus was the only one who would be truly hurt by the lie. Sirius felt guilty for that.

…

The shop is as dark and dusty as ever. Sirius calls to Remus as soon as he arrives, and Remus emerges a few moments later, covered in a fine white powder.

“What in the name of Godric…?”

“Flour,” Remus says, blushing slightly. “I finished alphabetizing yesterday, and seem to have been upgraded to housekeeper as well as organizer. Boss wants lemon cake.”

“Can’t you just buy it?”

“He’s got a sensitive nose. And tongue. And stomach.”

Sirius wonders if he will ever see the mysterious, eccentric man behind the books.

“Want help?”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You can cook?”

Sirius laughs. “Of course not. You can’t be this beautiful and be useful. I can watch and offer scintillating conversation?”

Remus shrugs. “I’ll take it. I’ve started talking to the cats, and I hate cats – Ragnar is the only – nevermind. Annoying creatures.”

Padfoot has never been overly fond of cats, and Sirius is mildly terrified of McGonagall, so he nods in agreement. He assumes Ragnar is the name of the elusive bookshop owner.

“To the kitchen then? I’ll chase the cats away for you.”

Remus gives him a weird look and turns away, gesturing for Sirius to follow. The shop stretches back infinitely, it seems – Remus turns through corridor after corridor, passing doors leading to rooms full of books and strange artefacts, claw footed chairs and growling vases, lampshades decorated with the teeth of strange beasts.

“This place,” Sirius says, “Is bloody weird.”

“Yes.”

Thoughts of becoming lost for ever in the maze of rooms begin to fill Sirius’ head. At least that would solve his family problems. Eventually, Remus steps through a remarkably ordinary door into a remarkably ordinary kitchen (for a wizard. It wasn’t without the odd hand labelled jar of potions ingredients of curious looking vegetable.)

The sides were littered with an assortment of baking paraphernalia, and a large bowl of cake mixture stood in the eye of the storm.

“How did you reach the door so quickly?”

“It’s charmed. Detects wizards in a 500m radius and alerts me.”

“So you normally just ignore me for a while when I turn up?”

Remus grins, mocking. “I don’t want to seem to eager.”

“Well then, I’ll make sure to leave several days between now and my next visit, if that’s how we’re doing this.”

Remus elbows him. “Don’t you dare, unless your goal is to drive me insane so that I lose all of my common sense and sleep with you.”

“Now that you’ve suggested it…”

“Sirius, sit over there and be quiet.”

Sirius smirks. “Bit forceful, Remus. I never expected you to be so… commanding.”

Blushing slightly, Remus covers his embarrassment with a glare, turning back to the chaos on the sideboard.

“There’s books on the table. Lord of the rings,” he says, all casual.

Sirius sits down at the wooden table, peering at the stack of books. Their spines are broken, white cracks running through the green spines. The pages are dog eared, marked a thousand times with post its, bus tickets and sweet wrappers. Sirius holds his breath as he reaches for the book – it is like picking up a part of Remus himself.

It’s funny how you realize things about people, how sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that say the most. Sirius knows as he opens the first book that Remus trusts him, too an extent, because he is holding something so beloved. The fact that when Sirius was not here, Remus collected up the books and brought them down showed that some part of him hoped Sirius would call.

It pleases him to know that maybe he is in Remus’ head as much as Remus’ is in his.

…

The afternoon passes quietly – Sirius gets sucked into Lord of the rings, which is quite unlike any book he has read before, Remus bakes and then vanishes for a few minutes, returning with a stack of dusty books, paper and a quill. He scratches away whilst Sirius reads, and they pause to eat cake (a little raw in the middle, still good.)

All in all, it’s one of the quietest afternoons Sirius has ever experienced with another person, and he is surprised at how much he enjoys it, the presence of a person who is content to simply coexist. It’s significantly less demanding than the other relationships in his life.

“You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met that makes up schoolwork for themselves,” Sirius says, breaking the long silence. Remus looks up from his work, dazed.

“Huh?”

“Are you not bored?”

“Oh. No. This is my life’s work. My magnum opus, but academic.”

“Sounds boring.”

“I’d love to argue all the reasons it both interesting and important, but as we have discussed, it’s a secret.”

Sirius rests his chin on his hands. The secret. The barrier to a wonderful summer of sex and adventure. The mysterious secret of Remus Lupin. Sirius peers at the books, but he really, really sucks at French. Remus shoves them into a bag anyway, clearing the table.

“Enjoying Tolkien?” Remus asks.

“Who? Oh, right,” Sirius looks down at the book in his hand. He’s already two hundred pages in – he can read fairly fast, if he’s interested. “I might be in love with Legolas. Is that normal?”

Remus grins, and Sirius can’t help but grin back. “Personally, I prefer Aragorn. Legolas is a bit polished.”

“So you like the wild and rugged type?” Sirius says, tossing his own bedraggled locks. Remus merely snorts at his posing.

“Sirius, we both know you spend hours getting your hair to look that awful. There’s nothing rugged about you.”

“Hey! If I didn’t have absolute confidence in my good lucks, I’d be really upset right now. I’m very manly.”

“Yes. Sirius! Spider!”

Sirius leaps from his seat, eyes scanning the table and ground furiously.

Remus has collapsed in his seat, shoulders heaving with laughter. Sirius sits back down and kicks him under the table. Remus catches his foot with his own, pressing them together for a moment before pulling away. His anger fades, heart pounding at the contact, separated only by the thin fabric of their socks.

This is too much. Sirius shuts his eyes tight, picturing, for just a second, leaning across the table, resting on his elbows, pressing his lips to Remus.

Remus is looking at him when his eyes open, lips parted, eyes an unreadable expanse of grey. Sirius wonders if Remus will cave, falling without trusting. Is it wrong of him to hope that? Probably. Falling for Sirius Black is a risky business. He wonders if he’d break Remus heart. Right now, he thinks no – right now, feet inches apart, eyes locked together, he thinks he’d stay with Remus to the end. His heart certainly agrees.

But his heart is a fickle thing, and he gets bored easily, and even though Remus is a bottomless ocean of mystery and laughter right now, Sirius knows himself. Familiar self-loathing replaces the warm feeling in his body, turning him cold and slimy. He longs to run from Remus suddenly, with his smiles and jokes and floury, stupid, adorable jumpers.

Remus smile has faded, confusion spreading over his face at Sirius’ sudden pensiveness. Sirius stands.

“I – I have to go.”

“OK,” Remus sounds uncertain. “You can take the books, if you like. Bring them back.” There’s worry in his voice, and Sirius reads it for what it is – doubt. Part of Remus is doubting Sirius, and the knowledge of that curdles his mood. His brain fills with all manner of awful things to say to Remus, but he bites his tongue, holding most of them down.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he says at last, turning and leaving the kitchen. He heads into the corridor, leaving the door open behind him. He turns, once, looking at Remus. His expression is open, more confused than angry. The book lies face down on the table.

Sirius winds his way back to the door – it takes significantly longer than last time, without Remus to guide him. It’s almost dark outside, freezing too. He walks out of town, until he is alone, misery growing with each step until his chest heaves with the weight of it. He yells vaguely at the sky and gives in, turning into Padfoot and leaving the troubles of his human heart behind.

For the second time that summer, he runs until his paws are aching and bleeding. And then he tries to sleep off the hatred.

Sirius’ head doesn’t really understand logic. Sure, he can see the benefits of thinking things through and pausing and processing and such, but he can’t do it. He is all emotion, a walking heart, except by now it’s heavily armoured and he’s mostly just a ball of hormones and rage.

He recognises that this is a problem, and that he has just sabotaged his relationship with Remus for absolutely no good reason (he can’t even remember what triggered the sudden avalanche of self-hatred, except that it was something to do with Remus being innately good and him being innately bad.) His mother said he’d never live up to his name, but in the dead of night, dark thoughts choking his mind and poisoning his soul, Sirius thought he was indeed black, corrupted and dark to the soul.

He fought so hard against it, but the fear that he wouldn’t break free of his history – of the generations of cruelty and prejudice – crippled him. Remus had a secret, a secret he couldn’t tell him out of fear of betrayal, and on one level Sirius knows he’d do nothing to harm Remus, but on another level he can’t help but believe that he wouldn’t necessarily have to act to cause disaster – by the simple virtue of being himself, good intentions and terrible outcomes, he’d bring disaster down on the heads of anyone he dared to love.

Look at James. He’d turned James’ first love against him without even realizing it, breaking his best friend’s heart and condemning him to a life of tongue tied hopelessness around girls, despite his stupidly good looks.

Despite his convictions in his many shortcomings and general worthlessness, Sirius Black had never wished to die. He had wished to stop feeling – indeed, he had tried many things to stop feeling – but never to end completely.

James had wanted to become animagi for the pranking opportunities. Sirius had wanted it for the escaping opportunities.

He lives as Padfoot for two days, finally changing back when he became too hungry to continue. He’s never gotten the hang of hunting, and hates the taste of blood when he returns to his body. He limps back to the Black Château, dirty and miserable, only to meet his mother at the front door.

Inside, he sighs. Externally, he plasters on a smile, even though he doesn’t know what he’s pretending for now, if not Remus.

“Mother.”

“I am waiting for an explanation that will not confirm my suspicions that you are in fact a stain upon the name of Black.”

“I felt it prudent to take some time to thing, deeply, over my previous mistakes. I have been so ashamed, remembering all of my misdemeanours, that it has taken this long for me to return home and meet your eyes,” he says, raising his eyes to meet his Mother’s dark gaze. He wonders at how she can fall for this – over the top sentence structure and dramatic grovelling. They’ve always been a dramatic bunch though, the Blacks. Sirius is no exception (it’s a real shame Hogwarts doesn’t have a drama club because he would be a star.)

Walburga Black is meaner than she is clever, and her people skills are generally too awful to pick up on people lying. She usually assumes the worst of people though, so Sirius holds his breath while he waits for her answer.

“Rightly so. I still loathe to look at you. Get lost.”

That went about as well as he could have hoped for. He heads to his room, but at the last minute ducks into the secret room he had hidden in a few days ago. There’s no sun today – it’s cloudy out, an undecided sky leaning towards rain.

Eyes closed, he stills his body until he can hardly feel it. That odd sensation that comes from being motionless fills him – he could be tiny or a giant, he can no longer tell. He could be nothing but a mind floating aimlessly.

A mind drifting always to Remus Lupin. What is he thinking now? Two days after Sirius ate cake with him and then all but ran away? Sirius wonders what he’d do if he returned. No – he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to apologise for what an idiot he is. He can’t exactly tell the truth, that he is terrified that he’ll ruin whatever happens between them simply by being himself, that he is scared of turning something beautiful toxic without even intending it.

That his fears have been confirmed by his actions.

There’s no use lying and wallowing in misery, he tells himself. He lies on the cold stone floor until his shoulders and back protest enough to make him move.

It’s pouring down outside, the kind of rain that drenches you instantly. Sirius shrugs off his shirt and runs into it. He races through the woods, human this time, water dripping from his hair into his eyes and running over his chest and eyes. Maybe if he runs for long enough it will wash all the worst parts of him away.

Maybe Remus doesn’t care. Maybe he is over it. Because there was no it – there was barely anything. Sirius – well, he knows people prefer his body to his brain for company. It would hardly be a surprise if Remus thought nothing of his departure. Sirius couldn’t think of a single character trait that made him good company.

Walburga was right on one count – Sirius was a mess, a deviant, a corruption of a human being.

He collapses on the shore of the lake, panting. Silent judges stretch their branches above him. The sky is a grey expanse, empty in the way Sirius wishes he was. If he had been born a plant, a tree, something simpler and purer, life would surely be better. He looks across the dimpled water, calm save for the ripples made by raindrops, and his mind clears.

It’s OK here. It’s safe. Far enough away from the things that make him feel sick and itchy in his skin. No matter what his thoughts do, what his hands do, he cannot damage the lake. It fills him with the same sense of calm that Hogwarts does – a sense of timelessness, a thing older and wiser and more eternal than yourself.

Breathing in, he lets Padfoot take over, resting his head on his paws and staring out at the water. Padfoot is more patient than Sirius. Padfoot can wait out the bad mood. He can wait for the sun.

…

There is a boy beside him, sitting just a few feet away, chin resting on his knees, almost mirroring Padfoot’s posture. The boy turns his head and he recognizes the eyes, the endless grey of the sky. Padfoot yelps in surprise, getting up, about to run.

“Sirius,” Remus says, whisper soft. “It’s OK. I know.”

He knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments appreciated as always, next chapter will be up by next Wednesday.


	4. Peaks and troughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illegal secrets, self loathing, and a stray cat come into the picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I think this is the best chapter of this fic so far... I was going to split it because it feels very long but who wants tiny updates anyway? 
> 
> If you'd like to leave a comment, I'd be delighted - you guys are a very quiet bunch of subscribers and even a smiley face would make my day ;)

“You know?”

“Well, if I didn’t before, I bloody well do now.”

Sirius’ heart is pounding. He clenches his fists tight, trying to gain some control over his body. Does Remus even realize the power he holds over Sirius?

“You – You can’t tell anyone, Remus. It’ll be the end of me. They’ll lock me up – fucking Azkaban.”

Remus eyes widen. “Of course you’re unregistered – I suspected, given your age, but sometimes there are special circumstances. Sirius – what in Merlin’s name are you playing at?”

“It was an experiment! I was bored one year, and, well, I’m excellent at transfiguration. Promise – Remus, please, I’m begging you,” he collapses onto the ground, head cradled in his hands, unable to look at Remus. He is exposed, completely at the mercy of another, and he hates every second of it. His teeth grind together, clamping his jaw shut to stop him saying anything else.

“Sirius.”

He looks up. Solemn eyes look back at him.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. I knew since I first met you in the bookshop.”

“How?”

“Let’s just say I have good senses.”

“Wait… you’re not?”

Remus shakes his head. “I’m not an animagi, Sirius. I would’ve told you if that was all it was.”

Sirius runs through events in his head, piecing them together. He arrives at one conclusion, obvious suddenly.

“You’re a werewolf,” he says finally. Remus freezes. Sirius can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end from the tension. “I – I heard you, didn’t I? That night, in the forest?”

Remus looks back, terror in his eyes – a terror that eclipses Sirius’ own, despite Remus not facing any legal repercussions.

“Does Dumbledore know?”

Remus nods, barely.

“It’s OK, Remus. It doesn’t bother me. If you were dangerous you wouldn’t be at Hogwarts. And even if you were dangerous, well – in case you haven’t noticed, I have a self-destructive streak.”

Something seems to leave Remus. His whole posture slumps.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispers. Sirius has to shift closer to hear him speak. “I’m a monster, Sirius.”

Sirius clenches his fist to stop him reaching for Remus.

“You’re a boy. A person. A wizard. Not a monster.”

“You haven’t seen me,” the words are a breath. There are tears in Remus’ eyes. “You – you don’t understand.”

“Remus, I live with monstrous people. I know evil when I see it. And it isn’t in you.”

“Not evil. Wild. Dark. Out of control. Savage,” Remus turns suddenly, eyes hard. “You say now – you say it’s fine. It’s easy to say now. But I change, Sirius. Around the full moon, I become cruel. Angry. And when I change there is nothing – nothing – of myself left. I’d kill you.”

Sirius believes him. But he chooses to put faith in the Remus he knows rather than the awful stereotypes society holds about werewolves. He crawls closer, touches Remus shoulder gently. Remus shudders. Sirius presses against him, just sitting. Remus eventually collapses against him, breathing ragged.

“You should run from me,” he breathes.

“And if you knew half of what was in my head,” Sirius whispered, “You would run from me. I should be the one pushing you away, not the other way around. It’s – It’s so very selfish of me to want this.”

Remus turns his head, pressing their foreheads together. “That makes two of us,” he says, before pulling away, looking out across the lake. Something passes between them; intangible, heavily present. Unnameable. There’s a kind of binding feeling that comes from sharing two secrets. Sirius will trust Remus because Remus must trust him. Betrayal is mutually assured destruction.

Not that he wants to destroy Remus – far from it, but the weight of it between them is terrifying.

“The wolf in you,” Sirius begins. Remus tenses.

“I – I don’t think I can talk about it. I don’t want you to know him – I don’t want you to ever, ever see what a ruin of a person I become.”

Sirius thinks his heart breaks, just a little. He looks at Remus – sharp profile, the bow of his lips and the sharp edge of his cheekbone neat lines in his fair face, freckles marking out patterns that Sirius wants to learn.

“I – I’d not mind, if you did. I think – I know,” he can’t find the words he needs. He’s always been better at pictures, movements, actions than words. “All of you is fine with me, Remus. Warts and all.”

Remus smiles weakly, but shakes his head in disbelief. Sirius is filled with the need to convince him, somehow, though he doesn’t know what he can do to turn self-doubt to assurance.

He reaches out, brushing rain drops from Remus’ cheeks. “I… I don’t have the right words. I wish I did – but… I hope one day you believe me.”

…

They sit, quiet and contemplative. It’s still raining – the pair of them are shivering, Sirius still bare chested, Remus wearing only a ratty sweater. Sirius grins suddenly – he can only remain melancholy for so long.

“Let’s swim,” he says.

“Swim? It’s raining.”

“Well, it’s wet in the water as well, right? We’re already soaked,” he grabs Remus by the hand, drags him to his feet. Remus relents, shrugs out of his jumper and folds it neatly on the wet grass.

Sirius wades into the water, cold enough to shock the breath out of him. He turns, looking to Remus, stood shivering on the bank, arms crossed over his chest.

“Just jump. It’s the only way.”

“This is madness, Sirius.”

Sirius laughs, joyous. “Is there any other way to live life, Moony?”

“Moony!”

“It’s the perfect nickname. I’m Padfoot – you know, cos of the paws. James is – oh, shit.”

Remus just laughs. “I should have known you didn’t do it alone.”

“Well, Moony, I guess you’ll just have to join the gang. We could use someone of your sensibilities.”

“To stop you from getting into trouble?”

“Oh no. You’re way cleverer than us – our pranks are going to a whole new level next year.”

Remus shakes his head and leaps into the water, sending a wave of water towards Sirius.

…

They are back at the bookshop, up in Remus’ tiny room this time. It’s an attic room, barely furnished. The floorboards are bare, smooth with age, the bed small and metal framed. There is a desk, scattered with paper, and piles of books stacked across the floor. A skylight fills the room with weak sunshine, the rain having finally stopped.

Sirius sits on the floor, not sure how he feels about sitting on Remus’ bed. Remus sits close to him, back against the wall. They eat quietly – bread from the bakery across the road, and fresh pastries. Sirius hadn’t noticed how hungry he was.

“So, can you tell me about your project now?”

Remus blushes. “I’ll tell you, but I don’t want pity and I don’t want you to try and put me off.”

“OK,” Sirius agrees.

“I’m searching for a cure.”

A cure? There is no known cure for lycanthropy, and as far as Sirius knows, there never has been. He’s never even heard rumours of it.

Remus raises a hand, shushing him.

“Madam Pomfrey makes a potion, to ease the transition, and it got me thinking. If it can be influenced at all by magic, it can be changed, or stopped. That’s why I am here – this building holds the most extensive library on werewolves in the world.”

“You think you can make a cure? Yourself?”

Remus shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’ll try. Lycanthropy has barely been researched – hardly anyone has tried to cure it. Most werewolves have no magical knowledge. I’m one of the few who receives magical training, because I’m from a wizarding family.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I found references to werewolves suggesting that they used to be fairly accepted in wizarding society – especially the magical ones. Hundreds of years old, far older than anything we have at Hogwarts. I’m trying to figure out what changed, and if there was some kind of cure that was lost.”

“Before the witch trials? I thought all recorded magical knowledge was lost?”

“A lot of it was. For a long time, wizards lived in secret, and hardly any schools were running. The only surviving libraries were personal ones. And look were we are – this guy’s family have been collecting books for centuries. They were never discovered.”

“Does the boss have a name?”

Remus laughs. “Ragnar,” he says. “At least, that’s what I call him. I think it’s his surname because his first is utterly unpronounceable.”

“So, what’s next then?”

Remus shrugs. “I’ve not gotten very far. I know that Wolfsbane and Monkshood are highly poisonous to werewolves, but they are toxic to humans too. I thought – if I could kill the wolf…”

Sirius knows the cure Remus needs – a healthy dose of self-acceptance. It’s a lot like being descended from a long line of assholes – you want to cut them away from you completely, but there’s the issue of you also being kind of an asshole. Sometimes, you just have to make the best of a shit situation.

“Remus Lupin, do not attempt any experimental magic that could lead to your death.”

Remus only shrugs.

“I think,” Sirius says. “A break is in order.”

“We haven’t done anything.”

Sirius jumps up. “I need to go home and get some stuff, if I’m going to sit here whilst you read French books. Walk with me.”

Remus raises an eyebrow in alarm.

“You want me to meet your parents?”

“Fuck no! You can hide in a tree while I sneak in.”

…

Remus stops when he sees the Château (Castle).

“Merlin. You didn’t tell me you lived in a fucking castle – there’s ghost stories about this place, you know?”

Sirius barks out a laugh. “What, about a screaming banshee?”

As if on cue, the voice of his mother pierces through the air, angry and thin. “Orion Black, you pitiful excuse of a man…”

Remus raises an eyebrow. Sirius shrugs. “Pretty standard. If I’m quick…”

“Shit, Sirius.”

“Don’t. Wait here.”

Remus’ shock and pity, when he’s seen nothing – when he knows nothing – crawls over him like insects, and he knows how Remus feels when Sirius tries to console him about his lycanthropy. There’s something uniquely horrible about someone you admire seeing the bits of yourself you work so hard to hide.

But, Sirius supposes, there can be nothing real if you hide the grit. And for the first time in his life, he badly wants to feel something real and good, even if that means pain.

In and out as fast as he can be, Sirius stops only to grab a handful of muggle money, his sketchbook and pencils, and some (vaguely) sensible clothing. Remus is sat with his back to a tree when he returns, looking thoughtful.

“Ready?”

Remus stands, and they retrace the twenty-minute journey back into the village.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to borrow the books again?”

Sirius blushes, reminded of his outburst the other day. “Remus – I… about the other day…”

Remus just shrugs. “Forget it. As we have established, we are both colossal messes.”

“And I, apparently, am also an idiot.”

“I knew that already, you know.”

“Always so cruel, Moony. Yes – I’d like the books.”

“OK. Good. Hurry up - I have theories to discuss.”

“You know you are a huge nerd, right? And is it about Legolas and Gimli? Because I am pretty sure they are boning.”

“Sirius!”

“What? There’s not nearly enough sex in those books and I have an active imagination.”

“Speaking of,” Remus begins, cautious.

Sirius gets the sense that he won’t be particularly thrilled about what comes next.

“I think… I think it’s best that we keep things platonic between us for now. I’m really not ready for anything more.”

Sirius pauses, because on the one hand, not being able to kiss Remus when he is so unbearably cute is torture, but on the other hand, being able to spend time with him is pretty great, and – well, he has a good imagination.

“Can I ask a question?”

“I suppose.”

“It’s not cos you don’t think I’m attractive? And it’s not because of my history?”

Remus looks momentarily horrified. “No! I don’t care so much about that. And I think you’re nice enough to look at.”

“My ego is swelling with compliments like that, Moony. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you,” Sirius laughs. Inside, he is a bit stuck on the “so much” part of the sentence, and a bit more stuck on the fact that he thinks he’s just willingly agreed to torture himself for the remainder of the summer.

“Shut up, you idiot. You know you look good.”

“Same to you.”

“I don’t, and saying things like that will only make this harder.”

“Not the only thing that’ll be hard this summer…”

Remus shoves him bodily, sending Sirius flying into a ditch. He lands, looking up into the laughing grey of Remus eyes.

“If you change your mind…” he says, and the hope is clear in his voice, and fuck, if Remus can’t see that – if he can’t see how fast and hard Sirius is falling, well, maybe there is no hope for them.

…

“Can I ask what you’re drawing?” Remus asks.

Sirius looks at his page, the mess of black lines with a hint of Remus hidden in them – a cheekbone, the whisper soft lines of his eyelashes, lips parted in speech, but it could be a kiss.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Moony,” Sirius says lightly, closing the book. Remus has already put a stop to any ideas of romance, and for Sirius to show him his feelings, so obvious on the white of the paper, would just make things awkward.

“I’ll take that to mean it’s wildly inappropriate.”

“Shocking really. Full of breasts. Not your thing at all.”

Remus looks surprised for a moment. Then, “I’m not gay, Sirius.”

“Oh. I just… I guess I assumed…”

Remus shrugs. “People always assume one or the other – even you.”

“So you’re… bisexual then?”

Remus laughs. “Something like that.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at Remus’ stock answer. “Alright. So long as you’re not going to leave me to spend the summer with a hot veela or something, like James did.”

“Lily will be heartbroken.”

All but jumping to his feet with surprise (which would be a mistake – Remus’ room has a terribly low ceiling) he exclaims; “She likes him! No way!”

“Sirius, no – you can’t tell James, she’ll kill me. She’s hoping it’ll pass.”

“Oh no,” Sirius says gravely. “James Potter grows on you. He’s like mould.”

“Are you this complementary about all of your friends?”

“I mean it in a nice way. Seriously though – James is besotted. He’s quite lovely really. Good kisser too.”

Faint surprise crosses Remus face.

“We’re just friends. You now how it is – awkward teenage years, segregated dorms, a bit too much butterbeer. James is mostly straight.”

“I don’t know how it is, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Sirius falls quiet for a moment, wanting to ask if Remus has ever kissed another boy, but knowing that is a line he should stay away from right now. He opens his sketchbook again, pencil drifting aimlessly. Somehow, his eyes have got caught on Remus and they can’t focus on anything else.

…

A thin cry echoes in the night as Sirius walks home. He pauses, listening. Again, there is a cry. At first, absurdly, he thinks it is a baby. But then he realizes it is a cat.

Sure enough, a tiny creature peeks it’s head out of the bushes. Sirius grimaces. He does not enjoy the company of cats.

He makes to start walking again, but the creature trots over to him, winding around his legs. It’s tiny, clumsy on its feet, and alone. He checks for a collar, but upon touching the creature it becomes obvious it is homeless – there is not an ounce of fat on its body, only thin, patchily furred skin covering it’s small bones.

Sirius curses his conscience and picks the animal up. He peers at it.

“What,” he says, “Are you? And why have you picked me – seriously, I am unequivocally a dog person. I am literally a dog. Why, why do you and your kin like me so much?”

The kitten meows.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll take you home. But you have to be quiet because my mother will likely eat you. And that isn’t a joke.”

It meows again. Sirius thinks it nods its head. Maybe it’s a really clever cat. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps the creature up in it, holding it against his chest like a baby. Not that he has held many babies. He can hardly be trusted to keep himself alive, let alone a baby.

He wonders what to do, and, with some resignation, finds himself outside his brother’s room. Regulus is in bed, reading a pamphlet that looks like it’s full of propaganda.

“Sirius?” He asks, squinting.

“Yes, brother, tis I. Well recognized.”

“One, don’t be an asshole, two, why are you here?”

“I need you to sneak down to the kitchen and get some meat. And some milk.”

Regulus sits up and levels a frown in his direction. Sirius tries for an innocent smile back. It fails.

“Why can’t you go? I thought you were reformed.”

“I am, but I’m on shaky ground. Mother will no doubt suspect I plan to perform some strange, muggle loving ritual using only full fat milk and half a pound of beef mince.”

“Yes, but why do you need meat and milk?”

“For my cat.”

“I like cats,” Regulus says, a little thoughtful. Sirius knew this – it’s why he is here. Regulus, despite the nasty exterior built up by his parents, is quite sweet at heart. It’s buried deep, but a kitten will bring out his better half. “Mother hates them though. She’d kill it, or eat it.”

“Yes,” Sirius says, like he is talking to a child. “That is why I need your help. Oh, get me a box whilst you’re at it. I don’t want it peeing on my bed.”

“You can’t keep it.”

“I’ll find it a better home tomorrow. I couldn’t very well leave it to die, could I?”

“Well, you’d better. You know what mother says – strays seeking scraps should be sacked.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I think she thought it rhymed.”

“The milk? This thing is clawing me.”

Regulus puts his pamphlet down and climbs out of bed. He’s wearing flannel pyjamas with a pattern of snakes on. Sirius shudders. It’s everywhere. He pads out of the room, pausing at the door to check the corridor, even though their parents are in the other wing of the castle.

Sirius sits on the floor and peers at the cat whilst he waits. It’s thin, but it doesn’t appear to have fleas, which is something to be thankful for. Padfoot got fleas once, after chasing a rodent of some description, and Sirius itched so bad for days that he almost shaved all of his body hair off.

“Here,” Regulus says. “Now go away. I’m busy.”

“You don’t want to help?”

“I’ve helped,” Regulus says shortly.

Idiot, Sirius tells himself. Kidding yourself that this is going to be some kind of bonding exercise. You and Regulus are done for – just accept it. As if on cue, Regulus speaks again;

“This isn’t going to be a bonding moment, Sirius. You know – You know I hope all this is for real, but I don’t believe it. I won’t get invested in the idea of having a brother again.”

Sirius says nothing, picking the cat up and ignoring the gnawing ache in his heart.

“Goodnight, Reg.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

…

“I’m too young to be a mother!” Sirius wails dramatically, falling through the door to Remus’ bedroom, cat clutched to his chest like a baby.

Remus squints at him. “What,” he says slowly, “Have you done.”

It is more of a statement than a question – Remus knows him well enough by now to know that he has done something and that that something is going to cause Remus trouble.

“Well, my dear Moony, let me tell you a story about a kind hearted boy who…”

“Spit it out.”

“Kitten,” he says, depositing the small creature on Remus’ lap. Remus swears and jumps back a foot. Sirius makes a mental note to not present werewolves with cats without warning. Apparently they like them even less than dogs do.

“Sirius! Get it off of me!”

“It’s not an it,” he says, affronted.

“Well what the bloody hell is it then?”

“I haven’t named it yet. I thought you should have a say, as we are now co-parents.”

“I did not agree to this.”

“Moony,” Sirius wheedles. “Please? It needs your positive and grounding influence so it doesn’t grow up to be a scoundrel and a vagabond.”

“You’re nuts, you know that? Do you even like cats?”

Sirius peers at the kitten, which is looking rather unhappy, clinging to the bed beside a rather angry Remus. “No,” he says. “They look suspicious. However, I believe that with proper training we can remedy that.”

“Training,” Remus says flatly.

“You know, like a dog.”

“A dog.”

“Dogs are easy to train,” Sirius says. “Just wait until they do the thing you want, praise them wildly, and then they’ll do it whenever you like.”

Remus pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful.

“Sirius,” he says. “Whilst I think this over, would you go and make some tea?”

“Of course, Moonshine. My tea is bad but I want us to provide a good example of co-operation and compromise to the baby,” he says, leaving the room in search of the kitchen. Remus smiles at him in a way he doesn’t entirely like.

When he returns, proudly clutching a cup of a semi-drinkable beverage that could be tea, if it cleaned itself up a bit, Remus takes the cup and grins at him.

“Thank you Sirius. You are so nice, you know – so caring, and considerate, really an excellent human being…”

Sirius narrows his eyes and examines Remus face, detecting the hint of a smug grin.

“Oh no!” he says, taking the tea back. “You did not!”

Remus cackles with pure glee.

“You… you –“ Sirius splutters.

“Dogs are easy to train, Moony,” Remus mocks, in a surprisingly good impression of Sirius’ voice.

“Just you wait, Remus Moony Moonshine asshole Lupin – I will have my revenge.”

Remus grins. “Don’t ever call me Moonshine again. It’s worse than Moony. And, I do have a middle name, you know.”

Sirius considers this new information, disregards the first bit of the sentence and focuses instead on the next. “Well,” he demands. “What is it?”

“John.”

“John is boring. I think Moony Moonshine has a subtle pizzazz to it.”

“Subtle Pizzazz?” This is accompanied by an elegant raised eyebrow that Sirius slightly wants to touch. More than slightly. Is that weird, to want to touch eyebrows? Probably.

“Subtle pizzazz is an art you cannot master, Moony. Now, there are pressing matters at hand. Whilst you were busy exploiting my good nature I decided to name it Legolas. I think she’s a girl, but I don’t concern myself with the gender binary so it’s not an issue. She is going to be the most beautiful cat at Hogwarts and I’ll be the proudest of all Mothers.”

“I think, all things considered, you’d be a father, if anything. Is this wise, Sirius?”

Sirius sits down on the bed and strokes the cat, which starts purring impressively loudly, sounding rather like the particular brand of motorbike he has been coveting.

“I just don’t want to let her die,” he says.

“You know you can rescue an animal without having to keep it forever?”

“Well,” Sirius says, thinking. “I suppose we could give her to James. He – being a freak – likes cats. And he has a very caring heart. And his mother is always sending him petfood and I don’t know why.”

“Lily likes cats,” Remus says, thoughtful.

“Perfect. The great kitten date of 1976 will bring the starcrossed lovers together. We will flawlessly execute it because we are love gods.”

Remus groans and closes his eyes. “You’re very dramatic today, Sirius.”

“It’s the hormones of motherhood.”

“And idiotic. But if you think James will actually want the cat, then we can keep it until then.”

“Moony, I could kiss you.”

“No, you couldn’t. I am assuming, since you brought Legolas here to me, that your home is not an option.”

Sirius sighs at the mention of home, the knowledge that he will have to return by the end of the day weighing heavy on his shoulders, turning the day to a sandtimer. “You assume correct. I am fairly sure Mother would cook and eat a cat if it looked at her funny.”

“I’d laugh, but I don’t think you’re joking.”

“Nope. Welcome to the most ancient and noble house of black, or, as I like to affectionately call it, The most facist and psychopathic cult of bullshit.”

“Sounds very welcoming.”

They are laying side by side on the bed, across the width of it, so that their legs stretch across the floorboards. Legolas walks over both of them, getting her claws stuck in Remus sweater and purring whilst he swears rather viciously.

…

“That fucking, scrawny little… wretch of a creature!”

Sirius stops in the doorway, trying to process the situation. Remus is sat on his bed, feet up, glaring and cursing at the corner of the room. Then Sirius notices the smell. Ah.

“Remus?”

“That… thing… has defecated all over a book.”

Sirius has to turn his head to hide a smile, because of course Remus takes offense to damage being done to a book, rather than cat shit in general. Sirius goes in search of cleaning materials.

“I owled James,” he says. “Which was a challenge, because I had to convince Mother I was owling this horrible girl she is trying to make me marry. I left a note in the letter to tell him to use code in case Mother intercepts the reply.”

Remus sniffs. “Wish I could use my bloody wand right now.”

“Your language has… worsened since yesterday.”

Remus glares at him. “That, Sirius, is because your good-nature has lead to me sharing a room with a cat that apparently eats sulphur for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and likes to scratch the floorboards under my bed at 3 am.”

“Aww, Moony, don’t be mad.”

Remus sniffs and returns to his book, but he doesn’t tell Sirius to go away, so Sirius finishes cleaning, wraps the cat up in his coat, and goes out in search of cat litter. It’s a challenge, because Bécherel is home to exactly one shop that sells something other than books, and his appalling French means he has to point at the cat and then the toilet repeatedly, whilst saying please over and over.

He gets there eventually, but he’s pretty sure the guy at the counter thinks he is insane.

Remus is asleep when he returns, curled on the bed around his book. Sirius breath catches in his throat – the combination of Remus, quiet and at peace, and his frayed old sweater and socked feet does something strange to his heart. He fills the litter tray, as quietly as he can, feeds the cat and then sits down on the end of the bed. He immerses himself in Lord of the Rings.

He is so absorbed that it’s a long time before he realizes Remus is staring at him, sleepy and smiling. He smiles back, helpless.

“S’it good?” Remus asks, voice thick with sleep. His hair is a mess, and he has a red mark on his face from where he lay on his hand.

“Yes,” Sirius says simply, not ready to ruin the quiet with words. Remus sits up, and Sirius shifts his leg so that it presses against Remus’. Remus lets him, returning to his book without another word. Pretending to read, Sirius tries not to think about the warmth of Remus against him. Eventually he is sucked back in and they read until twilight falls.

“I should go,” Sirius murmurs. Remus puts the book down. At some point, Legolas made her way back into his lap, and he reluctantly strokes her ears. Sirius closes his eyes for a second, capturing the moment in his memory; rain on the roof, a leg against his, the rustle of paper, the smell of Remus’ bedsheets in his nose, the purring of a cat.

“I’ll walk with you,” Remus says.

“You don’t have to.”

“No I… I’ve not been out all day. Too much reading. I need some air.”

Remus shrugs on a coat that is as battered as his jumper, and Sirius wonders if Remus actually makes hobo look hot, or if he is just too gone to see him objectively. They walk close together, talking of this and that, and Sirius can’t quite focus on Remus voice because as they walk, their fingers brush, and each touch is distracting enough to make him trip over his words.

Remus glances at him as he stutters, and looks down at their hands, millimetres away.

“You… you really like me, then?”

“Nah, I’m this tongue tied because I hate you, clearly.”

“Don’t be so bloody obtuse,” he says, but he says it fondly.

“What’s with all this swearing, Remus?”

Remus laughs. “I like to exploit the full range of the English language as much as the next man.”

They keep walking, and Sirius thinks Remus’ words over and over. Yes, he thinks, he does really like him.

“I’d still like you if you looked a right mess, you know,” he says suddenly, in case that is what Remus is worried about. “It’s not purely aesthetic.”

Remus glances at him, glances away. “I do look a right mess,” he says. “My body is a wreck, and I’m not ready for anyone to see it.”

“I saw you shirtless already,” Sirius says.

“That’s different,” Remus says, not looking at him at all now, voice a little hoarse with emotion. “That’s casual. It’s still uncomfortable, but you saw them by accident and it was no use pretending after that. But I don’t think – I don’t think I could be with someone and have them see me, close….”

He trails off, and Sirius’ wonders how someone can make his heart whole and broken all at once.

“I… I wouldn’t mind.”

“I mind, Sirius,” Remus says. “OK? This – this is what you don’t understand. I mind, and I hate… I hate that part of myself, so much. And every time I look at myself I see reminders of it. You don’t hate me for what I am, and I see that now, I really do, but as long as I am filled with this self-loathing, I can’t give myself to someone else.”

“Remus-“

“It’s not fair. And don’t… don’t think you can fix it, just by loving me, OK?”

“I never said…”

Remus stops and looks at him, and the anguish in his eyes makes Sirius want to reach for him, console him, kiss him until he forgets but he can’t because Remus won’t let him. He clenches his fists.

“Don’t fall in love with me, Sirius Black. It’ll ruin us both.”

“Do you really think I don’t understand self-loathing?” he bursts out, because Remus isn’t seeing it.

“We’re – we’re teenagers, alright? We’re meant to fucking hate ourselves. Society is built for it. You – you’re an outcast because of what you are, and so am I. I’m the heir to a goddamn fortune, a legacy of nobility and blood purity, and here I am – a sexually deviant Gryffindor falling in love with a werewolf. Until I was twelve, I never knew anything but prejudice and hatred, until I met James. I never knew that family was meant to be a good thing. My Mother is going to burn my name off of the family tree and disown anyone who speaks to me in a few months, and I know this but until then I have to grovel at her feet and talk shit about good people just to keep a roof over my head, because I’m not fucking – I’m not strong enough to leave yet. I let her talk to me like I am nothing and I hate myself for it.”

Sirius is breathing heavily, distantly shocked at the words that have just burst from his mouth.

“I was going to go to James’ you know, after she kicked me out the first time. I was going to scrape money together and get back. But… I wanted… I wanted to see where this was going, with you, because I feel like it’s something different – romantic or not – and I didn’t want to leave before it was properly something.”

“Sirius…”

“I’m going to go to bed,” Sirius says, quite calmly, “Before one of us really fucks up. I am sorry for comparing my family problems to yours.”

“Sirius…”

He walks away. If he says anything more, regardless of what Remus says, he’ll only fuck things up by embarrassing himself or upsetting Remus. The words he said keep playing over in his head – the shame of it all somehow worse now that he has admitted it to someone other than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK some parts of this may have been written at 3am or later because I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote "Moony Moonshine Lupin" but I regret nothing. Also new hc that James Potter gets sent petfood bc he feeds all the stray cats that make their way to Hogwarts.


	5. in this second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus tells his story, and they dream of a different future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one, sorry it's a day late, two, sorry it's short, three, sorry bc I think I broke my own heart with this chapter? So many emotions. Anyway, as always, let me know what you think. :)

He avoids Remus for three days, facing the wall in his room and alternating between sleeping and moping. He meant to go back, fix it all the next day, but night fell and twisted his words and feelings into something unpleasant and bitter, convincing it was all unsalvageable, all because of him, because of him, always because of him and his stupid mouth and stupid brain and…

He sleeps again.

On the third day, Regulus knocks on his door, saying he has to come down for mandatory family bonding. Which means scrabble, since they are sick of chess. In order to remove it from any muggle associations, his mother insists on only using magical words. Double points if you can insult a muggle, werewolf or blood traitor with your answer.

Racist scrabble. What a summer holiday.

On the fourth day, Regulus knocks on the door and hisses Sirius’ name.

“Sirius. Oi, idiot. Get out of bed. Someone’s here for you.”

Sirius sits up straight. No. No, Remus can’t be here – not if his Mother is home, or his Father – they can’t meet him, can’t know. His breathing is ragged. He stands, confused from panic and sleep.

“Who?”

“Some delivery boy. He says you requested a book from a shop in town, and you need to sign for it.”

“Oh, right,” Sirius says stiffly. “I’ll go down now.”

“I know it’s a lie, Sirius. I’ve seen him at school, and you don’t read willingly.”

Sirius turns on his brother, a threat on his tongue.

Regulus raises a hand. “I’m not going to say anything, for Merlin’s sake. You are an eternal disappointment, but I’m not such an arse that I’d get you disowned on purpose. Just be careful.”

Sirius nods his head in thanks, pulls on a shirt, and goes outside.

Remus is sat on the doorstep, a wrapped parcel in his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sirius demands, more angry at himself than Remus.

Remus looks up, and his face is wrecked. His eyes are red, mouth turned down.

“Sirius…can we talk?”

Sirius shrugs and starts walking, realizing too late that he has no shoes on.

“I thought you weren’t going to come back,” Remus says softly.

“Hadn’t decided yet.”

“And… I didn’t want to let you go so easily. You said you stayed for me. So. I came here instead.”

“Idiot move. My mother would ruin you.”

“Sirius I… I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry for holding back so much. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I did kind of go off on a self-pitying rant. That was a dick move.”

“Just… let’s go to the lake, OK?”

They walk quietly, though not entirely comfortably, through the trees until they reach the lake. Remus leads Sirius to a thick trunked tree and they sit, backs against the old wood.

“I want to explain it to you,” he says, “All of it. The whole werewolf thing.”

“I know what being a werewolf means.”

“No,” Remus pauses, and he sounds nervous. “How it happened.”

“Oh.”

…

“I was almost five,” he begins, and Sirius feels his heart in my throat. “My father had publicly announced that Fenrir Greyback deserved death. So he came for me – he snuck into my room at night, and attacked me. I remember his face, these terrible yellow eyes, and skin covered in scars. He was salivating before he bit me. I screamed, and that’s when he bit. I remember that it burned. My father burst in and fought him off before he killed me, but it was too late. That night – that was my first memory,” Remus pauses for breath. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are far away. Sirius wishes he could follow him there, and hug the younger Remus, tell him it was going to be OK.

“My transformations were unbearable as a child. I didn’t understand what was happening. Werewolves aren’t meant to be alone – they normally live in packs – but I had to be locked up so I didn’t hurt anyone. That’s where all my scars are from – the wolf bites itself, tries to rip itself to pieces. It rejects itself as much as I do. I only have one scar from the attack, on my arm. The rest were all caused by me.”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, and tries to push his emotions down. This is Remus’ story, and he will not interrupt.

“I had so many dreams, Sirius. When I was little – I wanted so much. I wanted to travel the world, and I wanted to be a teacher and an auror and a herbology master, amongst other things. And my mother had to tell me I couldn’t, every time, every time I hoped, she had to shut me down. She had to make me believe that I was a reject. The only place I was accepted was in books.”

“My father couldn’t look at me. He believed it was my fault. He still barely speaks to me. I know it’s not my fault, that he can’t look at me, but I always tried as a child to please him. But it never fixed anything – he didn’t see anything but the scars. When they had my sister, he doted on her. My mother was always loving, and for that I am thankful.”

“Lucy isn’t magical. I know my father wanted her to be. But that’s why he fought for me to go to Hogwarts, so that at least one of us would continue the magical line. I was so, so glad to escape my hometown. No one knew me, and at last I was free.”

“Every month, I go to the shrieking shack. I am locked up, and Madame Pomphrey collects me in the morning. I hear kids talk about the ghost up there, and I know that it’s a dare to go to the shack. And they don’t know, and I know that, but it’s always confirmation of what I know to be true. I am a monster, and nothing will change that. The only way I can be a good person is to reject that side of myself utterly, and as long as I do that I am split and broken.”

He finishes speaking and falls quiet, avoiding Sirius’ gaze. He can see tears shining in Remus’ eyes, but they don’t fall. Sirius supposes he’s cried over his story enough times. Sirius thinks through it, and above all is struck by the loneliness of the life Remus described. He knows what that feels like, to be utterly misunderstood and other. Until he went to Hogwarts he knew nothing else. But he remembers how his friendship with James made him feel, warm and welcome and loved and whole, and vows that he will be that for Remus.

“Pack animals?” he asks at last.

Remus nods, small and sharp.

“So, say, do you think a wolf would get along with a very large dog?”

Remus turns to him, already shaking his head in warning. “Sirius – that is unbelievably dangerous.”

“Nah. Padfoot can hold his own. Let me – let me come out with you, next full moon.”

“If I hurt you I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Well, for starters, you won’t. And if you did it would be my fault. And, as extra reassurance, I am very fast.”

“I can’t go out. I’m supposed to be locked up.”

“And last time?”

Remus looks guilty. “A mistake.”

The thought of Remus, because he couldn’t think of the wolf as anything other than him, locked up, scared and writing that fear out on his own skin, makes him at once sad and angry, a confused feeling that makes him want to cry and scream at the same time.

“It doesn’t have to be like that now,” he says. “I can help. Please, let me help,” the last words come out soft, earnest enough to surprise even him. He reaches for Remus and takes his hand, on impulse. The cocky, arrogant version of himself has gone. He has no clever words, no jokes to fill the quiet, only emotion and the hope that his face conveys what his words don’t.

“We’ll walk all day, OK? Right out into the forest, away from everyone. My… my parents own most of it, and they don’t stand for trespassers. No one will be there.”

Remus is quiet, and Sirius can see the longing written across his face. His hand grips Sirius’ tightly enough to hurt. Sirius wriggles his fingers, forcing Remus to relax his grip. He brushes a thumb over Remus’ knuckles, as lightly as he can.

“You have to set a trap,” Remus says at last. “And if the wolf tries to hurt you, you must push me towards it. And it must injure me enough to stop me.”

“Remus – No. No, I won’t do that. I won’t push you from one prison to another.”

Remus looks at him, pleading. “I want, more than anything, to do what you wish. I can feel it in me, this need to run and be free. And I want to give in. But it is wrong, and dangerous. I don’t think I have the willpower to be good anymore, though. So… if we’re – Merlin, am I actually considering this? No. No. Just – forget all of this.”

Sirius sighs and slumps down. He doesn’t let go of Remus’ hand though, and Remus doesn’t reclaim it, so he knows the conversation isn’t over. He doesn’t know how to argue against Remus’ ever vigilante self-doubt or his conscience. He thinks back to when he became an animagi, a passage from one of the books he read nagging at his brain.

“Animagi and werewolves – I read about it once. Look it up. Maybe that’ll convince you.”

“Sirius…”

“I want to help you, Remus, because you’ve already helped me more than you know. I’d like to return the favour.”

“I like you better when you’re all jokes and insults.”

Sirius shifts until his gaze meets Remus’; “That’s not all of me, Remus. It’s all I’ve ever been to anyone – a joke, a kiss, a prank – but there is more of me, and for the first time in my life, I want to share that with someone. I want something real.”

Remus bites his lip, avoiding his gaze. Sirius sees the blush spread over his cheeks though.

“If you’re going to speak, it had better not be to say another word about how unworthy you are, or how terrible all of this is. At least – at least don’t lie to me.”

Remus meets his eyes, expression open and honest for once. “I… I’d like to imagine we could have that,” he says softly.

There’s not much Sirius can say to that, because it was neither denial nor permission, so he falls quiet. It’s raining again – always fucking raining, he thinks, a little bitter. It’s supposed to be summer. Everything about this holiday is turned upside down – the twisted family bonding, the romance, even the weather.

“Imagine it then,” he whispers at last. “Tell me.”

Remus laughs quietly, maybe embarrassed, maybe mocking. Sirius is already soaked, so he lies on the grass and gazes up at the clouds above, foreboding grey vessels of rain, and the branches that spread out above them like a leaky umbrella.

“If it was different, I’d kiss you,” Remus whispers. “And instead of searching through dusty old books on a fruitless quest, I’d lie beside you, and we’d read all day –

“All day?” Sirius chips in with a smirk.

“Shut up. You’re ruining my dream. And that stupid cat of yours would bother us. And we’d walk and go outside, and you’d draw, and it would be easy and nice. And when we left Hogwarts, we’d get a tiny flat. And I’d fill it with books and you’d swear about tripping over them. I’d… I’d be able to get a job. And, well, I don’t even know what you’d do.”

Sirius smiles at the image, him and Remus, wrapped up in each other and life. He wouldn’t mind the books – he thinks he might actually quite like them. He’d make Remus tea and learn to cook, and maybe he’d be an Auror or something, maybe even teach transfiguration if he could convince McGonagall to take him on as her apprentice. James and Lily would have a million kids and Sirius and Remus would mind them, and…

He trails off. He’ll have no money when he leaves his family. There’s a war brewing in the wizarding community, and it’s going to hit in a few years. Remus can’t work because of his lycanthropy, and James and Lily aren’t even together.

“I’d like that,” he says at last. “I’d like all of that.”

“If only,” Remus sighs, and Sirius turns.

“I’d settle for a kiss though,” Sirius says, as earnestly as he can manage. Remus looks at him, and nods.

“One kiss,” he says at last. “And that’s the end of the dream. Then we have to wake up.”

Sirius shakes his head. “Remus, we can’t have the world – we both know that. I’m not foolish enough to believe everything will be OK or easy. But… we can have each other, OK? That’s not a pipedream.”

Remus answers by moving closer. Sirius props himself up on his elbow. Their faces are only inches away now. The rain has plastered Remus’ hair to his face, and Sirius tugs at a strand of it. Remus shivers.

“Say you believe me,” Sirius murmurs, close enough to feel Remus’ breath on his face. “Mean it.”

“In this second,” Remus says, “In this second I believe it.”

“Then we’ll take it one second at a time,” Sirius whispers. It’s Remus that closes the gap between them, and Sirius can’t help a surprised exhalation of breath. Remus laughs, swallowing his surprise, and Sirius is floating on that laugh, the heady scent of Remus surrounding him, the warmth of his lips against his own.

It’s not like the other kisses he’s had. They have always been hurried, stolen in corridors and classrooms, fumbling and awkward and driven towards something hotter. Remus doesn’t kiss like he’s on borrowed time. Sirius can tell, from the hesitancy of Remus against him, that Remus is inexperienced, but Sirius lets him lead anyway. Remus buries a hand in his hair, tugging him closer, and Sirius moves at last, kissing him back, gentle and slow. There’s no tongue in the first kiss. It’s too soft for that. Something about it, the slowness and fragility of every moment, makes him feel like he’s holding a something fragile between his fingers. If he reaches too much, holds on too hard, it will break.

They pull apart, and Remus leans against him, a warm weight against the onslaught of the weather.

“That was at least ten seconds,” Sirius whispers, waiting for some indication of change.

“I’ll believe a little longer,” Remus murmurs back, grabbing his hand. His palms are sweating a little, but Sirius is more flattered by the nerves than anything else.

“Was I your first?” he asks, suddenly shy.

Remus shrugs. “Does that bother you?”

Sirius rests his head against Remus’ shoulder. “Not at all.”

“Was I OK?”

“Delightful, Moony,” Sirius says, smiling. “Best kiss of my life.”

“Don’t make a joke of it,” Remus says, a sharpness returning to his tone. Sirius presses lips to his neck, enjoying the way Remus freezes.

“Not a joke,” he mumbles. “First time anyone kissed me for me, not for my body. It means more than everything I’ve done before.”

“Come back to my room,” Remus says. “It’s warm there. You can finish the first book.”

“OK,” Sirius says, and his heart soars at the simple companionship Remus offers. He hopes there is more kissing as well as reading, but he’ll settle for whatever Remus is comfortable with.


	6. full moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cute kisses and the full moon.

They collapse into Remus’ room, dripping all over the floor. Sirius lets go of Remus’ hand for the first time since leaving the lake. Legolas trots over to them, rubbing against their legs despite their wet clothes. 

Remus strokes her and then peers under his bed. He emerges with a towel.

“I’ve only got one, sorry. Had to pack light.” He offers it to Sirius first, and Sirius takes it. He towels his hair and then looks up. Remus is watching him, and he blushes when Sirius catches the glance.

“Do you mind if I strip? I’ll probably die of hypothermia if I wear these clothes much longer.”

Remus face flushes redder, and Sirius can’t help the chuckle that escapes. “I’ll keep my underwear on.”

“Um. Good. I have a spare shirt, if you want it? And – you look kind of cold – a jumper?”

“That’d be great,” Sirius says, trying not to think about what it will be like to wear Remus clothes. This is not a good time to be aroused. He has no trousers on. Remus returns to his rummaging, and Sirius dries himself as quickly as he can. He feels kind of bad that Remus has to use the towel after him, and for the hundredth time that summer curses the fact that he can’t use magic.

Remus tosses a heap of fabric at him. He catches it, just. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Remus is a few inches taller than him, and his clothes are loose when Sirius slips them on. The sleeves of the sweater, long on Remus, look positively ridiculous on him. He doesn’t mind though. They smell of Remus, all books and paper and the wild scent of magic. Maybe he can’t smell the magic – maybe that’s just Remus’ sweat and skin, but he likes it either way.

“Can you make tea? While I change? Or there’s hot chocolate if you prefer. Wait – make hot chocolate. I need chocolate.”

Sirius considers acting affronted at the orders, but it only makes him smile. He doesn’t mind Remus telling him what to do. It’s further evidence that he’s slowly becoming comfortable enough around him to be fully himself.

Making drinks in the kitchen of the bookshop is as challenging as it was last time, but he makes two passable cups of hot chocolate and returns with them. Remus is changed, curled up on the bed in a sweater even older and larger than the one Sirius is wearing (seriously, where does he find them?). His hair is mussed from the towel, his face flushed from the sudden warmth of coming inside. Sirius hopes Remus is still in the mood for believing his good intentions, because sitting beside him without touching him would be torture.

“Hey,” Remus says.

“Hey,” Sirius replies. They pause, embarrassed and smiling. He still believes.

“You can sit, if you like?”

“Really? I was thinking I’d just stand here like an idiot.”

“Oh shut up and sit down,” Remus laughs, and some of the awkwardness fades. Sirius sits at the other end of the bed, facing Remus. Their feet touch. Sirius is terribly aware of the soft sheets against his skin, the worn wool of Remus socks against his bare toes, the sound of the rain pounding on the old wooden roof.

The moment is unbearable in it’s quiet perfection, and Sirius feels the absurd urge to cry. He hands Remus his mug instead, and sips his own drink. The sweetness distracts him momentarily, the warmth grounding him. He drinks until his heartbeat has slowed to an ordinary pace.

“So… what’re you reading?” he asks. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

Remus chucks his book at Sirius. Sirius ducks a second too late.

“Asshole.”

Remus laughs. If Sirius could bottle that laugh, he’d use it to treat every ailment he had. Except maybe the heartsick feelings he has towards Remus. It makes those so much worse.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“I am experiencing this odd sensation of a second that is stretching on and on and on.”

Sirius looks at Remus out of the corner of his eye. “Is that your way of saying you really, really want to snog me?”

Remus splutters, blushing bright red. “Sirius! Merlin, you’re terrible.”

“What? I only said snog. I’m very snoggable. I don’t blame you.”

“You know what? My book is seeming very appealing right now.”

“Oh, come here. Or I will tackle you.”

Remus smiles, suddenly shy as he shifts closer. Sirius catches the edge of his jaw with his fingers, pulling him closer. Remus is on his knees in front of Sirius’ crossed legs. It’s a little awkward, but Sirius thinks most kisses are to start with. Remus lifts his hand, rests it hesitantly on Sirius shoulder. A few moments late and it is clutching the back of his neck, thumb pressing against his pulse.

They pull apart, breathing heavy. Remus eyes are wide, surprised.

“Are you OK?” Sirius asks.

Remus smiles. “Yes. Just…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Go on.”

“I’m pretty uncomfortable,” Remus admits.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “More than our lips can touch, you know. Just shove me wherever you like.”

“I’m not going to shove you, Sirius.”

“You did the other day.”

“Because you were flirting!”

“Well, maybe if I flirt again…”

Remus pushes him down on to the bed, and lies on his side beside him. They pause for a moment, spooned together, feet on Remus’ pillow. Sirius knows his own eyes are as wide as Remus’ now – he’s stuck in Remus gaze, unable and unwilling to leave it. Remus traces the edge of his jaw, and Sirius shivers.

“Is it always like this?” he asks.

“Is what like what?”

“Kissing. Is it always so…” he gestures with a hand, “all encompassing? I feel like this could be my whole world and I wouldn’t even mind.”

Sirius smiles. “You’re terribly adorable, Moony. I’m going to have to kiss you now, if you don’t mind.”

Remus grins. “I don’t mind,” he whispers, lips already pressed to Sirius’ own.

…

They are tangled together on the bed, a sleepy heap of legs and arms and blushing cheeks, and Sirius can’t think straight. Nothing happened, save for lips on lips and hands in hair and for one brief moment, Remus hand under the edge of Sirius’ shirt, gentle fingertips resting on his hip, sending shivers through him.

“We have to be careful,” Remus says, and for a terrifying moment Sirius thinks he is talking about sex, because he’s not sure he’s ready for that yet. But Remus continues, oblivious to Sirius brief freeze.

“I… I don’t want it to be too fast. I don’t… I could give in, you know, to this… this heat in my chest. But that’s how things go wrong. Too much, too soon.”

Sirius smiles at him. “This…” he glances at their entwined hands, “This is enough. More than enough. Like, I’m not sure I can take anymore. I’d explode.”

“Don’t say stupid things, Sirius,” Remus murmurs. Sirius nudges him with an elbow.

“I mean it. You’re very beautiful.”

“I didn’t believe you the first time you said that, and I don’t believe it now.”

“Still think we’ll tear each other apart?”

Remus looks at him, and his eyes are so honest when he speaks. “You’re going to break my heart, Sirius Black.”

“Remus… Id never… I…”

“Maybe you’d not mean it. Maybe it’d be due to circumstance and not choice. Maybe misunderstanding. But I know… I know this won’t last forever.”

Sirius feels desperation clawing at him, angry words climbing up his throat at Remus’ ever present pessimism.

“Sirius… don’t… don’t be sad. I just mean… I don’t even know what I mean. Don’t listen to me.”

“I’ll always listen, Moony.”

“I don’t understand you,” Remus whispers. “I don’t understand why you like me.”

“Because you formed a second opinion of me. Because you let me in when my family kicked me out. Because you make excellent cheese sandwiches. Because you are looking after a cat I dumped on you. Because you look really fucking good in ugly jumpers. I could go on. It’s you I don’t understand.”

“My jumpers aren’t ugly.”

“They are.”

“You’re alright really, Sirius. I know… I know you think you’re a terrible mess, and maybe you are, a bit, but – you’re a good person, OK? You accepted me without question. You didn’t even get that look on your face that people get – you know when you come out to someone who tries really hard to be accepting? And they say how “totally fine” it is that you’re not straight? That look. You just… it really was fine. That means a lot.”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, and tries to say something, anything, but there are no words. No one has told him, outright, simply, that he is good before. He hadn’t known he’d needed to hear it, and he couldn’t have imagined how much a simple reassurance would help assuage his doubts.

“I…”

“Maybe this isn’t forever,” Remus whispers, interrupting him. “Maybe even just summer. But right now I need you and you need me, and we’re here, and there’s no good reason why not other than heartbreak. And I’m too far gone already. Anything but kissing you will hurt.”

Remus, as always, has the words Sirius doesn’t.

 

….

A week passes in a happy blur of mouths on mouths, sleepy kisses and hours of reading wrapped in blankets. They attempt to cook dinner one night and nearly burn the house down. Even that isn’t enough to bring Ragnar from his hideout. Legolas chews through three of Remus’ socks. They go to the lake most days, sometimes swimming, sometimes just sitting whilst Sirius draws and Remus reads. They argue nearly constantly, but very cheerfully.

To Sirius, it feels like a dream, an improbable and short lived state of bliss. He is waiting for that moment where the light changes and the shadows twist into nightmarish monsters. Each day passes too fast, and he falls asleep with happiness and dread battling each other in his heart.

…

“Do you have the next one?”

“What?”

Sirius gestures to the closed book on the bed.

“Return of the king is the last one.”

“Are you kidding me.”

Remus grins. “No. That is the end.”

“But...”

“I did tell you it was a trilogy.”

Sirius lets out a long suffering sigh, unable to quite articulate his feelings. His mind is still firmly planted in middle earth, and returning to the simple reality of Remus’ bed is disorientating.

“I want to read about Legolas living happily ever after though. He needs a beautiful elf boyfriend and a dragon.”

Remus laughs. “You know, I’d never have pegged you for being a secret nerd but…”

“I am not!” Sirius says, affronted. “Legolas is more than a mere fictional character.”

“There’s rumours that Tolkien wrote more, but he never released it.”

“That should be illegal. What am I going to do now?”

“Read a different book? I have a lot, you know.”

Sirius leans in, kissing Remus. “Nah. I think I’ll just stay here…”

Remus laughs against his mouth and Legolas is forgotten.

…

The full moon is tomorrow. Remus had sent him home early the other day – Sirius’s anxious nerves and Remus’ pre-moon bad moods didn’t mix, and both were ready to kill each other by lunchtime. Remus had threatened to call the whole thing off, but Sirius had dug deep and found some semblance of calm, enough to reassure him that it would be fine.

Admittedly, there was quite a sizable part of him that was worried it wouldn’t be fine, but he was choosing to ignore that.

He spent the afternoon lying on his bed, legs up against the wall, headphones clamped down over his ears. He had to turn the volume all the way up to drown out his mother’s screaming – his father was the subject of her affections (and by affections he meant abuse) today. Apparently he wouldn’t know what a nice shirt was if it was being used to suffocate him and he hasn’t worn cologne since 1952.

So he listens to edgy punk bands and thinks about Remus’s hair and Remus’ eyes and Remus’s toes pressed against his calf and Remus Remus Remus until the name loses all meaning and is simply a sound that evokes a feeling he’s utterly addicted to.

…

He arrives at Remus’ at four pm, a backpack full of food slung over his shoulder and a blanket folded in his arms. Remus answers the door, and Sirius pauses before he speaks. Remus’ eyes are circled by purple-blue bags, and his hair is a dishevelled mess. He manages a small smile as he steps aside, letting Sirius in.

Sirius follows him up to his room, the little space now more familiar than his own bed. If everything falls apart, the hours he spent in this room will be what he looks back on.

Remus sits down, pulling boots on over thick woollen socks – there are holes in the toes and Sirius wonders if that bothers him when he walks. It would bother him.

“Are you sure, Sirius?”

“A hundred percent,” he says, thinking it’s more like ninety-five.

“I’m not.”

“Better with me than alone, right?”

Remus shakes his head. “I should just go down to the cellar. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Sirius shrugs, because it is Remus’ choice. He can’t bear the thought of him locked up in some stone walled cell, tearing himself apart. Not if there is an alternative. Not if he can help. Plus, Padfoot wants to run. Padfoot always wants to run, but he wants to run more on the full moon.

“We need to start walking, if we’re going,” Remus says.

“Have you eaten?” Sirius asks, thinking of his own rumbling stomach. Remus hands him a sandwich.

“You would not believe how much I’ve eaten,” he says. “I used to starve myself the week before the full moon, hoping it would make the wolf weaker but… well, that just made it want to kill people even more. So I try and eat enough to lessen it’s desire to hunt.”

“Does it work?”

Remus shrugs. “Who can say. Anything I do only makes a tiny degree of difference when it comes down to it. Nice to have the illusion of control though.”

Sirius can second that statement. He eats the sandwich quickly, watching as Remus feeds the cat. Legolas has grown plump and sleek now. They leave, Remus carefully closing the door behind them.

Walking is something that Sirius has never minded, particularly. It’s infinitely preferable to sitting down, because the constant movement calms his brain, allows his thoughts to untangle and begin to make sense. Walking with Remus, however, is a pastime he actively seeks. Remus seems to know obscure facts about every landmark, plant and animal they spot. And when he runs out of things to observe, he talks at length about almost anything else – books, food, whether you should shower facing the water or away – you name it, Remus has considered it.

It’s odd, because Sirius gets the sense Remus doesn’t talk like this with everyone. It’s like he has words queued up inside of him, waiting to get out. Sometimes he stops, mid-sentence, blushing and apologising for talking so much. Sirius always laughs and tells him to carry on. He likes his accent, and the way his hands move when he speaks.

They are deep into the forest by now, several miles from the nearest road. No one camps out here because his parents are such arseholes. There are still a few hours of daylight left, and longer still until the moon rises. Remus had probably been overcautious.

When Sirius mentions this, Remus shoots him a glare. “There is no such thing as overcautious when you literally turn into a man eating monster.”

“But you wouldn’t actually eat a person.”

“Not the whole of them,” Remus says, and Sirius doesn’t know if he’s joking or not.

They stop, about eight miles in, and Sirius collapses to the ground, rubbing his feet. “Can’t you just go to sleep through it?”

Remus rolls his eyes and flops down beside him, but he’s restless, fingers tapping and twitching. “It only gets out once a month. It makes the most of it. If I go in tired it only backfires on me later.”

Sirius offers Remus half of his blanket, and Remus accepts it, leaning against him. Sirius could almost believe they were an ordinary couple, on some cheap camping holiday. Remus would have books about birds and there would be notebooks and pens and half written poems spilling out of their bags.

Remus tosses him a packet of crisps and his delusions of romance dissolve. They are just two anxious boys sitting in a forest, waiting for the moon to rise and determine their fate. Sirius catches his thoughts veering towards melodrama and tries to pull himself back to the present. He wonders if it is normal to have an inner monologue that likes metaphors as much as his does. Probably not.

Warm breath on his neck distracts him. Remus, nuzzling into him, hands creeping beneath his shirt. Sirius tenses, though he doesn’t know why. They have become fairly intimate, over the past week or so, but it doesn’t usually start like this. It usually starts with shy kisses and hand holding.

“Remus?”

Remus sits up straight all of a sudden, hands clasped in his lap. His face is bright red.

Sirius waits for an explanation.

“I am… so sorry. The wolf- erm. Well.”

Sirius smirks. “Your inner horny werewolf can’t resist my sexy pheromones?”

Remus mimes gagging. “Do you secretly write those awful paranormal romance stories? You know – Marietta is an ordinary girl, recovering from heart break, but then she meets Bertram, sexy dragon shifter, and their worlds collide…”

Sirius shrugs. “Sounds like my kind of book.”

“It’s basically porn, Sirius.”

“Definitley my kind of book.”

Remus shoves him.

“Got your wolfy hormones in check now?”

“Most definitely. I’d not kiss you now even if you begged me to.”

“Is that a challenge? Because I think I’ll win. Hands down.”

“Ugh. Don’t encourage me. Please.”

…

They fall quiet as the sun sets, the dappled light that makes it to the forest floor fading from yellow to orange to red and then to deep twilight. Remus is just a shadow beside him now. Sirius reaches for his hand in the gloom. Remus takes it.

They are breathing in sync. Sirius can hear everything. He doesn’t remember being this on edge.

“When will it start?” he whispers.

“Soon,” Remus replies. “I can feel it. I can resist for a bit yet.”

“Does it hurt? To fight it.”

“Yes. But I don’t like to let go of any control unless I have to.”

Sirius nods, runs his fingers over the ridges of Remus knuckles, wonders at the impossibility of his hands, always solid and warm, changing into the claws of a creature hellbent on harm and destruction. He realizes he doesn’t quite believe in the wolf.

“I’ll go in a minute. To change. I don’t want you to see that.”

“Is it dangerous? To be with you when you change?”

“No,” Remus says, and Sirius can start to hear the tension in his voice, the roughness as he tries to stay in control. The moon is rising now – he can see the dark of the sky lightening through the branches. “It’s probably the safest part. But right after – that’s the worst bit.”

Sirius kisses Remus, quick and rough, and Remus bites his lip, sharp, before pulling away in horror.

“I’m sorry. Fuck. I can’t… I have to go. NOW.” He stands and runs deeper into the trees, and Sirius hears the tearing of fabric first. Then Remus screams, and there is the most awful snapping noise, like fifty feet stepping on dry twigs at once, and then the screams settle into growls and Sirius feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Remus is gone, and he is alone in the woods with a very dangerous creature.

He changes into Padfoot, letting instinct take control. He can smell the wolf. He is as aware of it as he is of his own limbs. He makes himself calm down, tries to stop seeing it is a predator, seeing it instead as a friend.

It is his friend. It is Moony. Moony who smells nice and Moony whose hands are soft and Moony who makes him cheese sandwiches.

The beast emerges from the forest and it is not Moony. It is skeletal, the outline of every muscle clear under the skin. It’s eyes are wide and yellow and it is crouched on it’s hind legs, nose raised to the air in question.

Padfoot backs deeper into the trees, unable to stop a low growl from escaping. He has never encountered anything like it before, and he’d never imagined anything like it.

The wolf sees him. It steps closer.

Remus. Remus is in there somewhere. Find him.

Padfoot bounds out of the trees, tail wagging madly. The wolf freezes, growling. Padfoots sets of running, and the wolf follows. They crash through the trees, and at first Padfoot is running for his life, and the wolf is chasing him with the intent of capture, but he keeps running, doubling back and bounding around the wolf, until the wolf realizes he is not afraid.

The wolf lets out a small whine, confused. Padfoot nips at its heels, twines through its legs, does everything short of licking its face to show he’s not a threat. The wolf stops still, confused.

And then something changes in its eyes. Its hackles come down, and it becomes a little less monster, a little more oversized, weirdly bald dog.

Padfoot leads the wolf through the trees, and it follows, leaping madly and yipping. He doesn’t think the wolf has ever been allowed to play before. Padfoot tosses a stick up into the air and the wolf catches it, shredding it to pieces in its jaws.

The wolf stops still and lets out a long howl, joyous rather than mournful, and Padfoot lifts his head and howls in response. He doesn’t make a habit of howling at the moon, but he always enjoys it when he does.

They run until the moon begins to set, and the wolf slows down, tiring. It curls on the ground, tail tucked around it’s body. Padfoot sits a few metres away, watching. The wolf creeps closer, and leans heavily against his side, nuzzling its nose into his shoulder.

Padfoot thinks that is a bit weird but it’s not entirely unpleasant.

At some point, the moon sinks and Remus returns to his human self. Transforming back is easier. Sirius transforms only once all remnants of wolfishness are gone from Remus face. Remus curls up, completely naked, on the cold ground and abruptly falls asleep. Sirius wore two jumpers before he turned, and he drapes one over Remus’ still form.

He doesn’t sleep. His blood is still racing through his brain, hazy memories of running and howling and scents overwhelming him flashing through him. He’s never felt more exhausted and he’s never felt more alive.

Until dawn, Sirius keeps watch over Remus.

…

“Sirius?”

“Yes?” Sirius is instantly alert. He hadn’t slept, but his eyes had drifted mostly closed, and his consciousness had taken a brief vacation.

“M’ bloody freezing.”

Sirius shrugs off his jumper and chucks it to Remus. He takes off his jeans and throws him them for good measure. Luckily he had found actual clean pants to wear the day before. Remus doesn’t bother trying to refuse the clothes.

“Do you know where our stuff is? I didn’t keep track.”

“Two miles south,” Sirius says. “I mostly lead you in circles to minimize the extra walking.” It’s an odd sensation, being the cool collected one. Remus tries to get to his feet and stumbles. Sirius stands and Remus loops an arm around his shoulder, leaning against him.

“Sorry,” he says, embarrassed.

“Don’t be.”

A lot slower than when they set out, they begin walking home.

After awhile, Sirius gets up the courage to ask Remus the question that has been burning in his mind since the moon set. “Was it better?”

Remus looks at him, and he smiles a small smile. “Yes, pads. It was better.”

“Pads!”

Remus shrugs. “I feel more in touch with your animal side after last night.”

“I’ll say! That inner wolf of yours is a cuddler.”

Remus blushes. “Oh god did I…”

“You stopped short of humping my leg, for which I am eternally grateful.”

Remus elbows him in the ribs. He’s too tired to put any real force behind it. Sirius just catches his arm, pausing to kiss him briefly. He couldn’t not – tired, post-moon Remus is actually quite adorable. Remus’ nose has turned pink with embarrassment. Sirius kisses that too.

“So… you’ll let me sneak up to the shack with you at Hogwarts? And I’ll break us out into the forest?”

Remus doesn’t reply.

“Moony?”

“I don’t want to say no, but I’m not ready to say yes, alright?”

Sirius counts that as a win, and lets it slide.

They gather their bags, and Remus returns Sirius clothes. It’s a warm morning, but he’s still glad to be reunited with his jeans.

…

“WHERE IN THE NAME OF SALAZAR HAVE YOU BEEN?”

Sirius stops still in the doorway, momentarily startled. He’d briefly forgotten about his mother. For a few brief, blissful moments he’d been free of her weight on his shoulders.

“Out,” Sirius says shortly, not quite able to pull on his model pureblood child disguise.

“OUT! OUT! I BET IT’S YOU. YOU… MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD IS HALFBREED FILTH.”

“Mother?” She’s never called him a half-breed before, probably out of pride.

“WERWOLVES! IN BECHEREL!”

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... drama. Anyway there's two maybe three) more chapters to come. I hope you liked this one and I'd love to hear your thoughts as always. :)


	7. changing times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walburga's discovery puts Remus in danger and forces difficult decisions to be made. There is an unexpected change of scenery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've got confused with my chapters and so for some reason this chapter is ... 9k words. Oops. But I don't really see the point in splitting it because it reads well together.

__

Sirius stares at his mother, hoping he has misheard her. How could she know? They were miles away from the town, and even further away from their château.

“Werewolves? I find that unlikely,” he manages at last, trying desperately to find some of the old bravado he used to use against her.

“Oh you do, do you?”

Her tone of voice clearly indicates a trap, and Sirius has the horrible realization that his mother has more than just paranoia to prove her suspicions.

“An unusually helpful Muggle stopped by the other day,” she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “To inform me that my son had been spotted venturing into the forest on a regular basis with another young man.”

“Wasn’t me,” Sirius says.

“Scraggly black hair and a leather jacket with a rude symbol on it. An overall deviant appearance.”

OK that was a description too specific to get out of.

“Mother, do you really think I’m spending the summer gallivanting about with a bloody werewolf?”

His Mother narrows her already beady eyes and crosses her arms. He always forgets how small she is.

“I THINK YOU ARE THE WEREWOLF.”

Well. That was interesting.

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you? You’d go that far to disobey me. Get yourself turned into some disgusting creature, ruin your future, just to drive me to a heart attack.”

Bloody hell. That’d be one way to get rid of the old bat.

“And your evidence for this?”

“No reports of trespass until this summer. Then a werewolf. Full moon last night – where were you – gone. You’ve been distant and moody all week.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, and she wasn’t terribly far from the truth. Maybe if she believed it was him, he could protect Remus. Then when he got back to Hogwarts, he’d tell Dumbledore the truth and he’d be fine and his mother would be off his back.

Sirius flashes his teeth, and grins his most wicked grin.

His mother lets out a bloodcurdling roar, face turning purple from oxygen deprivation. Sirius wonders if you can asphyxiate from rage.

“Out.” She says at last. “You have five minutes to get your stuff. And then you get out.”

“You don’t even know if it’s true!” Sirius bursts out. He isn’t going to be kicked out. He was going to leave of his own accord. That had always been the plan, and it wasn’t changing now. He was brought into this world on his mother’s terms, and he was damned if he was leaving her life on her terms as well.

“I DON’T CARE IF IT’S TRUE. YOU’RE CLEARLY A SYMPATHISER, AT THE VERY LEAST. IF IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S THAT BOY YOU’VE BEEN HANGING OUT WITH. HE’S CORRUPTED WHAT LITTLE BLACK BLOOD WAS LEFT IN YOU.”

Remus. He has to protect Remus. If this gets out – if anyone finds out about Remus’ true identity, he’ll be beaten to a pulp at school. All his mother needs to do is whisper in a few ears, mail a few owls, and that is it. Life over. He can’t let that happen.

“Do you even know this boy?”

“I’ll find him,” she says, suddenly quite calm. Sirius blood runs cold. He has to get out of here.

“OK,” he says. “I was in the forest last night. With the boy. We are lovers. But he is not a werewolf. I think I would have noticed.”

“The spells picked up trespassers – two boys and a wolf.”

“We did hear a howl,” Sirius says. “It scared us, so we headed back to town. But we didn’t see anything.”

His mother purses her lips. A sordid summer affair is a lot less scandalous than consorting with (or being) a werewolf, and he doesn’t know whether she wants to believe the former for the drama, or accept his lie and hold onto the hope of an heir.

“I want this boy’s name.”

“No.”

“You don’t see him again. You spend the rest of the summer in the house. You don’t go out for anything.”

“You’re making me prisoner?”

“You are my son. You will obey me, or you will leave.”

Sirius is able to endure a lot. He has endured a lot – almost seventeen years of Walburga Black as his mother. But he cannot endure a month trapped under her roof. He won’t do it. His sanity and mental wellbeing can’t take it. A sick feeling rises in his stomach, and Sirius realizes that this is it. This is the moment. And he needs to take control of it.

“Then I leave,” he says. “And you leave me the fuck alone. I’ll not be locked up by my own family.”

“Then,” his mother says, as coldly as if he were a stranger, “You are no longer family.”

His sketchbook is in his bag, as is his music. He has nothing else important here. He swallows, and stares at his mother, searching for any sign of remorse, any indication that she feels anything motherly towards him. There is nothing.

He thinks briefly of Regulus, regret filling him. He won’t ask to say goodbye, and she wouldn’t say yes anyway. Wordlessly, he turns and leaves, going back out of the door he had so recently closed behind him.

Checking to make sure she isn’t following him, he makes his way to the bookshop. He bangs on the door, panic rising in his throat. He’s done it. He is free and alone, alone, alone. No money. No home. Utterly dependant on the charity of others.

He can’t think about that right now. He has to find Remus, has to warn him, make him leave, disguise his identity – anything to stop his mother finding him. He doesn’t think she’ll believe the lie of someone else being the werewolf for long.

…

“Remus? Remus!” He shouts through the letterbox, desperate.

A man he has never seen before opens the door, frowning down at him through thick eyebrows. He says something in French. Something that sounds very displeased.

“Remus. I need to see Remus.”

The guy begins to close the door, but Sirius shoves past him. Probably not wise, given that Remus’ boss is also a werewolf, but it’s not like he has much to lose at this point. Nothing except Remus.

He weaves through the corridors, somehow more confusing than usual, and maybe that’s due to his frazzled mind or maybe it’s due to him being unwelcome here, but it takes longer than he remembers to find the plain wooden door to Remus’ room.

He bursts in and only stops when he sees the figure curled beneath the covers. Remus opens his eyes blearily, and Sirius heart constricts. He looks awful. If he looked weak earlier, it is nothing compared to now. His face has lost all colour, and his eyes are watery. His hair clings to his damp forehead.

Remus closes his eyes and waves for Sirius to leave. Sirius closes the door instead and sits on the end of the bed.

“Go away.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Sirius. Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Sirius shakes the words off, not wanting to think about what they could mean. He’d seen Remus as a wolf – surely seeing him sick was not nearly so bad.

“I – you need to get out of here. You need to go home.”

Remus screws his eyes shut and ignores him. His breathing is laboured and raspy.

“Remus. Please listen to me. Please.”

Remus opens his eyes and stares at him. “Shit,” he mutters. Clearly Sirius’ face gives away the urgency his voice did not.

“I… my… the forest. Anti-trespassing spells. I said… I said we were together, that we heard a wolf, that we don’t know who it was but – she’s not going to let it go.”

“Tell a better lie,” Remus says, but the watery haze is fading from his eyes, replaced with fear. He bites his lip.

“I can’t. She was going to lock me up.”

Remus looks a little disbelieving.

“I’m not joking. She was going to literally lock me in my room for the rest of summer. So I left. I’m… homeless I guess. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Merlin, Sirius. You’ve doomed both of us.”

Remus voice is cold when he says it, and something inside Sirius freezes.

“Don’t blame this on me.”

“It is your fault. You were the one who convinced me to go out last night. You were the one – you showed up here. You forced your way into my life. I never asked for it.”

Sirius shrinks back from Remus. “Don’t.”

“Do you know what will happen if your mother finds out about me? My life will be over. I’ll be forced out of society. I’ll have to live in a werewolf camp, likely with the man who ruined my life. And do you know what Sirius? I would rather die than do that.”

Sirius closes his eyes. His fingers are digging into his palms. He presses harder, letting the pain distract him. He’s… he’s hurt Remus. He’s ruined his life, just by existing in it. He’s failed failed failed destroyed it all destroyed destroyed…

Stop.

“That isn’t fair,” he says at last, voice small. He can’t run from this. There’s nowhere to run to.

“I’m not in the mood to be fucking fair.”

“Please.”

Remus is silent for a moment. “I can’t leave. I’m close, OK? I’ve got a new lead. A lost paper from the guy that first brewed Wolfsbane. He had some ideas of ways to suppress the wolf all together and I can’t leave this.”

“Remus. Please. You said… you said last night was better.”

Remus sits up, and it takes all of his energy. He stops to catch his breath.

“It wasn’t enough. Wolfsbane and you – yeah, I had my mind for most of it. I didn’t bite myself. But I still turned into a grotesque monster, and I still felt all of my bones break, and my body is still a disgusting mess of scars, aging prematurely – and it is only going to get worse. I’m going to die from this disease, one way or another, and this summer – this summer was my chance to stop that.”

“That was only the first time. We can make it better, OK? I can do more. James can help. We can find something for the pain. Just… give me a chance.”

“I gave you a chance. It wasn’t enough. You can’t – nothing will make me accept this as my life.”

“Remus,” Sirius says, and his voice sounds broken, close to defeat. “There is no cure. You know that.”

“I don’t know that.”

“If there was a cure, someone would have found it.”

“Maybe if lycanthropy affected more wizards. Maybe if it specifically affected rich purebloods. Maybe if lycanthropes had access to knowledge and information. But they don’t. We’re worse than muggles. Worse than house elves and goblins and all magical creatures. You know the ministry can’t even decide whether to place werewolf issues in the beast or being department? Wizards – your people, Sirius – don’t even believe I am a sentient being. Why would they devote resources to curing me? I am the first werewolf with access to this kind of information since Ragnar. I have to…”

“They aren’t my people. I don’t know what I have to do to prove that.”

“They are. They are your people in the same way werewolves are mine. You can hate them all you like, but you are still bound to them.”

“This isn’t you, Remus. You don’t sound like you. I – it’s about more than blood. You know that.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the fucking wolf talking.”

“No. I – it’s fear. Fear of defeat, fear of discovery, fear of accepting something other than your dream as reality. You know last night was better. You know it was bearable. I – you hate the wolf, but I don’t, OK? I accept it as part of you. Maybe you should to.”

“It’s not like it’s a bloody sixth finger or something, Sirius. I’m a fucking monster. Why can’t you understand that I want to change that?”

Sirius shakes his head. “You aren’t a monster, Remus. You can’t be a monster based on physicality alone. Your worth, your goodness – that is defined by actions, not biology. My mother is a monster. You are just a boy.”

There are tears in Remus eyes. He swallows.

“I know you don’t believe me now. Maybe you never will. But believe this – we need to get away from here. You need to leave details of some made up shop assistant to cover you, and you need to go home.”

“Sirius…”

“Just… I know I’m a bit of a prick, alright. I know I talk a load of shite most of the time and have probably not had an intelligent thought in my life, or whatever it is you think of me but – if you have nothing to do with me ever again, just listen to me now. Maybe I did bring this upon you, but I can warn you. And I can try and stop anything else happening to you. Let me do that at least.”

“I don’t think that, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugs, because he thought he knew what Remus thought, and he thought he know what he felt, but now he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t even know where he is going to sleep tonight.

“We’d better go and speak to Ragnar.”

…

“I’ll arrange a portkey,” Ragnar says, in heavily accented English, once Remus has finished explaining. He runs a withered hand through his hair and sighs. “I was concerned something like this would happen.”

“You have my most sincere apologies-“ Remus begins. Ragnar waves them off.

“Son, we get enough judgement from the rest of the world without condemning each other. I don’t blame you for wanting to make it more bearable.”

“And if my mother comes knocking?”

Ragnar waves a hand. “She will. I’m registered – it won’t take her long to find me. Luckily I have an excellent record with the community, and worked for the French ministry for many years prior to being bitten. She’ll not be able to touch me – no one likes the Blacks around here.”

“And the wolf on their land?”

“A rogue seeking my protection. I scared him off. And as for my shop assistant – well, I can forge identities rather well. It’s a side business.”

Sirius doesn’t ask questions. Ragnar is not at all like what he expected from Remus’ elusive boss.

There is a loud and violent banging on the door, and they all freeze. Ragnar raises his wand and mutters something.

“Ministry officials. And Walburga Black.”

Sirius bites his lip to keep from either swearing or apologising.

“Clear all evidence of your research and belongings from your room. Go into my room, and go through the cabinet. It will take you to a friend. Tell him to seal it when you arrive. He’ll not ask questions.”

“Who is…” Remus starts. Ragnar raises a hand.

“No time. Go. And Remus – thank you for all your help so far. We’ll get there.”

Remus nods and bites his lip. Ragnar rests a hand on his shoulder briefly before they leave. Sirius follows him, dazed. In a blur, they pack all of Remus possessions, books, and notes into two bags. Sirius grabs the bags whilst Remus coaxes Legolas out from under the bed, bundling her up into a jumper.

Ragnar’s room is a chaotic mess that Sirius would have loved to study further, but they can already hear Walburga downstairs. Sirius has no idea how she persuaded Ministry officials to let her come here whilst they investigated, but most of his mother’s actions are beyond him.

They climb into the cabinet, just managing to fit in and close the door behind them. Sirius has never travelled by vanishing cabinet before, and he expects it to feel something like side along apparition. It doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything for a moment, and then there is a slight shifting sensation inside him – like all of his organs have become slightly off balance- and the door creaks open. They topple out onto cold flagstones, groaning.

Sirius stares at the ceiling. All manner of odd things hang from the roof beams – curing meats, animal hides, some kind of stringed instruments, pots, pans – even a giant pair of boots, hung by their laces. Sirius squints, wondering where he could possibly be.

There is grumbling noises and the sound of heavy footsteps, and then the light is blocked out. A giant of a man stands over them, his hair a great shaggy halo.

“Hagrid?”

…

“Black? Remus Lupin?”

Hagrid peers down at them, and then looks at the open cabinet.

“I’d better – give me a minute, would yer – I’d better close this thing up.”

Hagrid picks up a pink umbrella and taps the cabinet sharply, murmuring a word as he does so. The doors slam shut with a definitive thump. Sirius lets out a sigh of relief.

“Ain’t nothing getting through there any time soon. Now, I think some explanations are in order. Tea first though.”

Hagrid slams two giant mugs down onto the table, filled with black tea that is probably strong enough to bench press Sirius. He and Remus sit at the table, shell shocked. Sirius wonders if his gaze is as vacant as Remus’. He’s not quite sure how to make sense of the last six hours - it feels like years ago that they woke up in the forest.

“You know Ragnar?” Remus asks. He clutches the tea like a life ring.

“Of course I know Ragnar. We go way back. Who do you think told Dumbledore about the guy?”

Remus frowns. “Wait, you set that up? So I could go there?”

Hagrid shrugs. Hagrid shrugging is quite impressive. “Thought you’d get on well,” he says.

“So you know… about… about me?”

“I’m groundskeeper. You think I don’ know what’s roaming around Hogwarts?”

Remus flinches.

“No! no, not like that. Security and all, you know.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, what brings you lads here in the middle of summer?”

“My mother,” Sirius says glumly. “I reckon she’s got a pitchfork by now.”

“Old Walburga always was a bit of a grump,” Hagrid says. “No offense, Sirius.”

“None taken.”

They sip tea quietly for a moment. Sirius tries not to wince at the taste. Remus seems to be enjoying it, but he might just be better at being polite than Sirius is.

“You boys stay here. I’ve got something to check on, and then I’ll fire message Ragnar and see what’s going on.”

“We’re not going back,” Remus says. “We’ll go to my parents’ house this evening. There’s a floo we can use in Hogsmeade.”

Hagrid nods and stands. The table creaks under his weight as he leans on it. He pulls on a giant overcoat, despite the warm weather, and leaves the hut.

“We’ll go to your parents?”

“I’m hardly going to leave you to rot on the streets,” Remus says, as though Sirius is being incredibly dense. “It’s my fault you can’t stay at home anymore anyway.”

“That’s rubbish, Moony. It’s my mother’s fault, because she is an evil cow and probably the spawn of Satan himself. Actually, I’d take Satan for a parent over her any day.”

“Blame aside, you need somewhere to stay. So come to mine; Mum’ll be delighted – she’s always going on about how I have no friends.”

“And that’s what we’ll be? Friends?”

Remus pushes his mug aside and rests his chin in his hands. “To my family, for now, yes. My dad – well, I’m not sure he’d take it well.”

“And too each other?” Sirius says quietly, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know, Sirius. I don’t know what we are to each other at this point.”

Sirius stares into the bottom of his cup, wishing he’d paid a little more attention in divination. At this point, he’d take directions from tea leaves over making his own decisions in a heartbeat.

“I think… we need to slow down. I – you make me impulsive.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Sirius says. Impulsive is his middle name.

“It can be.”

“Then, what, we just go back to friends? That’s easier said than done.”

Remus looks at him, and Sirius shivers. He catches Remus eyes, and sees a hint of his own feelings mirrored on his face. Remus doesn’t want to let this go. And so long as Remus wants more than friendship, Sirius will fight for it.

“Let’s just… take it day by day,” Remus says. “At the end of summer – we decide at the end of summer.”

The deadline looms in Sirius mind, a month of uncertain days, wondering what Remus will decide each morning. But if that is the way it must go, for Remus to feel OK about it all, that is what they will do.

“OK,” he says, reluctant.

“Don’t…don’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like I’m breaking your heart.”

Sirius looks Remus dead in the eyes. “You will break my heart, Remus. You’ll either grow old with me, or break my heart. Because nothing is going to change the way I feel about you.”

Remus swallows, shrugs off his words. Sirius refuses to feel embarrassed for his confession – he’s done hiding his emotions, and he’s done with casual acquaintances. After experiencing the last few weeks with Remus, anything less than this all-consuming emotion seems like a waste of time.

…

Hagrid returns, bringing a strong animal smell with him. They don’t ask what he has been doing. Rumours of Hagrid’s many illegal pets are common, and Sirius doesn’t want to show interest and end up confronting a hippogriff or something.

“Right then. Let’s get this mess sorted.” He crouches down in front of his fireplace, taps his umbrella against the stones, and mutters the spell for a fire call. A few moments later Ragnar’s face appears in the flames. There is a large bruise on his eye, but he appears to be quite cheerful.

“Hagrid! Good to see you.”

“You don’t mean that, Ragnar. You’ll always prefer your own company to mine.”

“Well, my friend, you are high up on the list of people I hate less than the rest. Sirius and Remus are with you, I presume?”

“Yep. A right sorry sight the pair of them are.”

“A rough full moon, I believe. Now, where is Sirius? I have news for him.”

Ragnar speaks oddly stilted English, formal and accented.

Hagrid moves aside, and Sirius crouches in front of the flames, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Your mother punched me in the face,” Ragnar says. “She’s now banned from coming within 200 metres of my home.”

“You got a restraining order against my mother? Awesome!”

Ragnar grins, showing sharp neat teeth. “I thought you would be pleased. Now, Remus.”

Remus sits beside Sirius on the floor. “Yes?”

“I think it’s best you stay away, for the time being. However, I will be sending you a steady stream of papers that I think my interest you.”

“Thank you.”

“I believe that is all. That is my quota of human interaction filled for about a month, so I will be going now.”

He vanishes without saying goodbye. Sirius and Remus look at each other, a little baffled.

“Is he always like that?” Sirius asks.

“Yes,” Hagrid says.

“That is the most I have spoken to him in the four weeks I was there. And that includes all other conversations combined,” Remus adds.

…

“Thank you,” Remus says to Hagrid. Hagrid shakes his hand, and Sirius is a little worried Remus’ hand will be broken in his mammoth grip.

“See you in September, lads. Stay out of trouble.”

Sirius winks, and Hagrid rolls his eyes.

They leave the hut and head for Hogsmeade. The walk is odd – a familiar path turned strange by the absence of their fellow students. Sirius has never been here outside of term time before, except one year when he and James stayed for Christmas.

“Your family will be OK with me staying?”

“Should be. My sister is away for the summer with a friend, so it’ll just be my parents. Dad mostly avoids me, so I can’t see there being any issues.”

Remus appears to live in the middle of nowhere, and he’s not on the floo network. They step out of a fireplace in an abandoned building that functions as the floo for the local area. “It’s a bit of a walk,” Remus says, apologetic. Sirius shrugs. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather be walking than awkwardly trying to fit into someone elses home.

Sirius takes Remus’ hand, nerves hammering in case Remus pulls away. He doesn’t. They end up leaving the path, pressed up against a large oak, lips locked. It seems like forever since he’s been this close to Remus, even though it’s only been a day.

“We should go,” Remus murmurs. “Mum goes to bed early. She’s always tired.”

Sirius nods, kisses him once more. “I’m going to miss the lake,” he says softly. Remus smiles against him.

“Me too.”

“We’ll go back someday, right?”

“I hope so.”

…

“Remus? But… dear, you’re a month early! And who is this – you didn’t tell me you were coming home! Nothing’s ready!”

Remus smiles and hugs his mother. He’s a lot taller than her, and the woman vanishes into his arms.

Sirius doesn’t have an awful lot of experience with mothers, and has encountered only two extremes – his own Mother’s excessive strictness and abuse, and James’ mum’s constant, unconditional love. Remus mum seems to be at an entirely different point on the spectrum.

“It’s fine, mum. Sirius will sleep in my room, in the spare bed. And we only need a sandwich.”

“But – why, Remus? What are you doing here?”

Remus smile fades to a grim line. “We’ll talk inside, mum.”

Remus mother is a significantly better cook than Hagrid, and within twenty minutes they are sat at the table, sipping sweet tea and eating giant sandwiches. There is even cake. Despite the spread of food, Sirius can see that the Lupin’s are poor. There isn’t a single plate that isn’t chipped or faded, and most items in the little kitchen look like they are in need of mending or replacing. Everywhere is meticulously clean and cared for though, and Sirius gets the sense that Mrs Lupin is as proud as the next woman, despite her humble home.

“Thank you,” Sirius says, swallowing a mouthful of bread. “This is delicious.”

Mrs Lupin’s cheeks turn pink. Remus smiles at Sirius.

“The eggs are from our chickens,” he says. “And mum grew the tomatoes and cucumber out back. She’d be an excellent herbologist.”

“Now, Remus, I think an explanation is due,” his mother cuts in, swiftly ending the compliments.

“Well. Sirius’ mother kicked him out-“

“Actually I left-“

“And then she tried to hunt us down, thinking that one or both of us were werewolves.”

Mrs Lupin looks quite white. “You got caught – Remus –“

“I didn’t get caught. There was another wolf about, that trespassed on her land. She’s very suspicious of Sirius and made assumptions. But Ragnar got us away, and it’s fine.”

Sirius is quite amazed at Remus ability to lie, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised -constantly hiding your identity leads to a quick tongue.

“Your mother – Remus, is he putting you in danger? I’ll not tolerate that under my roof.”

Remus groans. “Mum. He’s fine. It wasn’t his fault. His mum is a bit of a nutjob.”

“She really is,” Sirius agrees. Remus’ mum doesn’t look particularly happy. She purses her lips.

“Very well. You can stay. But if I think you are in any way a danger to my son, you’re gone.”

“Mum!”

“I’m your mother, Remus. It’s my job to protect you.”

Sirius is not insulted, rather pleased that Remus has someone so willing to fight for him. Everyone needs a champion.

…

“So,” Sirius says, later that night. He’s wearing a spare pair of Remus pyjamas, and is snuggled under the duvet in the little camp bed they’d struggled to put up. The cover is printed with tiny aeroplanes. Remus had apologised, blushing. Sirius hadn’t minded. It was nice to see Remus’ roots. Also aeroplanes were quite fascinating.

“So,” Remus replies. His room is small, and his hand dangles off the bed. Sirius could take it, if he wanted.

“This is your home.”

“Yep. Kinda crappy.”

“It isn’t. I like it.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes you are.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Night, Sirius.”

“Night, Moony.” Sirius falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Remus is already up when he wakes, bed neatly made. Sirius dresses and heads down to the kitchen, listening out for Remus’ voice. He is sat at the table, talking with his mother and eating toast. He slides a plate towards Sirius when he enters.

There is a man at the table, hidden behind a newspaper. His hair is the same sandy colour as Remus’, but Sirius guesses that is where the similarities end. The man doesn’t greet him, and Sirius doesn’t make an effort to get his attention.

“Do you have an owl, Remus?” he asks. “I’d like to write to James.”

“She’s a little slow, but yes.”

“I’ll send it to his house then. They have a friend who will send it the rest of the way.”

“After breakfast then.”

Sirius takes a slice of toast and eats quietly. Remus’ father finally lowers his newspaper.

“So you’re home for the rest of summer?” he asks, looking at his son without meeting his eyes. Sirius tries not to watch the interaction.

“Yes.”

“Better find a job then. I’m not having you sitting around doing nothing all day.”

“It’s only a few weeks.”

“A few weeks that could be spent doing something useful.”

Remus looks unhappy, but he doesn’t say anything. Sirius wonders if there are any actual employment opportunities out here in the wilderness. He doubts it.

…

Prongs,

Hope your summer is going wonderfully.

I may have accidentally left home a little earlier than planned. Hoping I can make use of your spare room for a bit. I’ll get a job and all, don’t worry.

Met Remus Lupin in France. We’re friends now. You’ll love him.

Kiss a veela for me,

Pads.

He seals the letter and sends it off with the Lupin’s owl, who looks very displeased when she sees the address. At least it’s not the south of France.

He and Remus head out after that. Sirius isn’t sure where they are going, but he doesn’t mind. It seems to have become a habit – when they have nowhere to go, and nothing to do, they just walk. Remus has seemed on edge all morning, though he relaxed a bit when his father left for work. Sirius doesn’t ask. Remus doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it.

“It’s not really warm enough to swim up here,” Remus says, “Though there is a loch a few miles away. If you want to keep all of your appendices, I’d advise against it.”

“Where even are we?” Sirius asks.

“3 miles away from a tiny Scottish village called Arisaig. West coast of the Scottish highlands.”

“And what does Arisaig have to offer?”

“A post office, one shop, one restaurant, a café, a hotel, and a marina. That is it. Oh, and a church, I think.”

“Why in the bloody hell would you live here?”

Remus gives him a look. The look he gives him when Sirius is unknowingly dense and oblivious to the issues of people not born into ridiculous amounts of privilege.

“Because, Sirius, there are no wizards out here. And no werewolves. And no people who want to beat werewolves to a pulp. Arisaig literally means safe space in Gaelic.”

“Ah. OK.”

“Guess I’ll have to go and get my old job at the café back. I bloody hate working there.”

“So, what can we do here?”

“We could go to Eigg I guess.”

“Egg?”

“An island.”

“I’ve never been to an island.”

“Tomorrow then,” Remus says. “They have a cave where 300 odd people were massacred.”

Sirius blinks in surprise. “Romantic,” he manages at last.

“Well. The highlands used to be vicious.”

…

There is a reply from James waiting when he gets back. He is surprised at the rapid reply, but pleased nonetheless. He’d thought it would take a week for James to get back to him.

Padfoot,

Bad luck. Dad got the flu and we had to come home early. No veelas were kissed. My heart belongs to Lily anyway.

Sorry about the mother. Come over on Monday. Mum’s having a clean this weekend and she’s in a right tizzy. Unless you’re desperate, in which case come now. Bring Remus is you want. Is he the quiet one that punched Snivellus that time in first year? If he is, definitely bring him. He’s a magnificent specimen of humanity.

See you soon. I got you some rock from France by the way – you know that muggle sweet that’s a real pain to eat?

Prongs.

Sirius grins as he reads the letter. He doesn’t know why James has intentionally chosen him a gift that is annoying, but then the workings of James Potter’s brain are always a little difficult to understand.

“Hey Moony?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you punch Snape in first year?”

Remus turns red. “Erm. Well.”

“You’re in the gang. James says you are a magnificent specimen of humanity and he can’t wait to meet you. Want to go to his on Monday?”

“That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Well we can’t go today. Mrs Potter’s having a spring clean and James is probably sleeping in a tent until she’s done.”

“OK?” Remus says, somewhat unsure.

“Wait. You don’t hate James do you? I forget that you hated me sometimes.”

“What gave you the idea I don’t hate you?”

“Oh you know, the near constant presence of your tongue down my throat.”

“You’re disgusting, Sirius Black.”

“But do you hate James?”

“Well. I suppose I don’t know him.”

“I swear he’s a million times better than me. Maybe you shouldn’t meet him – you’ll probably fancy the pants of him and I’ll end up a third wheel.”

“Lily would probably murder me, so I’ll make sure not to look at him to closely.”

“Well, this is what I’ll say about James. He loves an audience. If you show any kind of attraction – and I mean any – that boy can see a pupil dilate from a mile away – he’ll have his shirt off in a second. He’s obsessed with what he calls his “hot quidditch bod””

“I’ve never been one for quidditch players,” Remus says mildly.

“Oh good, cos I quit after one year. Too many early mornings, you know?”

…

Remus hands Sirius a stack of books that evening and instructs him to choose one. Sirius has never seen so many books that aren’t about magical theory in one place. Muggles are incredible.

“I recommend this one,” Remus says, handing him a thick book.

A wizard of Earthsea.

“Where is Earthsea?”

“It doesn’t exist.”

“How is a wizard there then?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “How did you not question the magic in Lord of the Rings and yet you are struggling with the title of this?”

“Well,” Sirius begins, trying to piece his thoughts together. “That wasn’t about Wizards. And everyone knows magical rings are dodgy business.”

“Just pretend you are a muggle and you don’t know about magic, and read the book.”

“Pretend I’m a muggle! Why don’t you just pretend you are a …. Girl… or a house elf!”

“I cannot believe it’s as difficult for you to imagine yourself as a girl as it is a house elf.”

“Have you ever dated a girl Remus? No? Then you don’t understand how unfathomable they are.”

“I think that is probably sexist, Sirius.”

“What? No. I accept girls as superior beings. Anyway, this daft book about fake wizards –“

“Just bloody read it!”

“Alright, alright.”

…

Remus mum packs them a mountain of sandwiches and an assortment of other food. Remus digs out an old tent and couple of sleeping bags from a long forgotten family holiday. Sirius looks at the camping equipment doubtfully.

“That’s going to protect us from the wild?”

“Sirius, you literally ran round all night with a werewolf two days ago.”

“In France. This is Scotland.”

“Well, worst case we can always spoon.”

“OK I’m on board with this plan.”

Remus rolls his eyes and stuffs the sleeping bags into a rucksack, along with a jumble of other things that are probably important. Sirius added his sketchbook and the wizard of earthsea which he still wasn’t totally on board with. He was beginning to think that maybe Lord of the Rings was the only book series for him.

“The boat leaves in two hours. Mum said she will drive us.”

Cars are almost as fascinating as motorbikes, so he agrees quite enthusiastically. Remus gives him an odd look. Sirius wonders what it must have been like, growing up with two worlds coexisting, not fitting into either of them.

Probably lonely.

“I’ve never been on a boat,” Sirius says, thoughtfully. “Is it dangerous?”

“Not really.”

“How does it stay up?”

“Physics.”

“I’ve never heard of that branch of magic.”

Remus smirks at him, and Sirius blushes, though he isn’t really sure where he has messed up this time.

“It’s not magic, Sirius. It’s just – how the world works. As long as the thing is lighter than the volume of water it displaces it floats.”

“Sounds like magic to me.”

“Well, it’s science. Maybe we’ll see a dolphin.”

“A real one?”

“No. A blow up one.”

“You are being sarcastic.”

“Yes, a real dolphin.”

“Never seen a dolphin.”

Remus kisses him on the nose, which suggests he has been unintentionally cute. Sirius doesn’t really like to be cute, but he does like nose kisses, so he rolls with it.

They are stood on the deck of the boat, and the sea wind is blowing Sirius’ hair into his eyes and mouth. He has to push it back every two seconds. Remus’ hair is that precise length that blows attractively in the wind without actually being annoying. If he wasn’t so attracted to Remus, he’d be jealous.

“So, what do you think of the sea?”

Sirius grins, tipping his head back to look at the sky – the clouds skid past, and there is nothing to interrupt his view of the sky.

“I like it,” he says, decisively. And then they hit a large wave, and then another, and his stomach twists uncomfortably.

Remus sees his discomfort and grins. “You get seasick?”

“I – what? No…” he has to stop speaking as a wave of nausea passes over him. “Maybe,” he admits.

Remus leads him to the railing, and Sirius leans against it gratefully.

“Look at the horizon. It will help.”

Sirius stares at the thin line where sea meets sky. To his left, an island looms. Their destination.

“How long?” he asks, miserably. Remus tangles his hands in Sirius hair, soothing. Sirius closes his eyes.

“Not long.”

Sirius stares out into the ocean, alternating between trying to leave his body and trying to ground himself in it. Remus is quietly amused beside him, at home with the motion. Sirius thinks this is really an unfair situation, given that Remus puked in their first year flying class. He should be as green as Sirius.

He smiles at the memory. How he went all these years without really noticing Remus is beyond him, but he is notorious for being wrapped up in his own issues. He and James had their own little world of pranks and jokes and gossip, and Sirius rarely looked beyond that bubble, unless it was to contemplate hooking up with someone.

“Moony?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad we never hooked up in school.”

“Rude.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but that makes his stomach heave. He shuts them again. “No. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Sorry we weren’t friends before this summer. Sorry I didn’t notice you.”

Remus hands don’t stray from his head, but his fingers still. “I noticed you,” he says.

Sirius twists to look at him. His steady eyes are better than the horizon. “You hated me,” he says, a question hidden in the statement.

“Not really. I thought you were a bit of an idiot, most of the time, but… there were moments.”

“Moments?” he says, smiling. His stomach flutters at the thought of past-Remus looking at him.

“Sometimes you’d get this look, I don’t know, like you were somewhere else. And you’d smile. And… don’t laugh at me. You’re laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing,” Sirius laughs. The nausea has faded.

“You had a nice smile. I liked your smile. And you used to doodle on your notes in class. I always wondered what you drew.”

“Breasts,” Sirius deadpans, to cover up the quiet Remus words have instilled in him. Remus liked his smile and Remus watched him doodle and Remus Remus Remus how had it taken this long for him to notice him, with his sandy hair and long fingers and soft, chapped lips and laughter and books and…

“That smile,” Remus murmurs. “What are you thinking?”

Sirius blushes. “Oh, you know. Just about how much I like you and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

“Price of bread, that kind of thing.”

“You’re hopeless with words.”

“Good job you’re so good then.”

“Boats in, Pads.”

They get off. Sirius is very relieved to be back on firm ground, though he misses the presence of Remus’ hands in his hair.

…

 Remus starts walking with purpose, but Sirius trails behind. The island is like nothing he’s ever seen – barren and beautiful, a small pocket of land in the sea. He turns and looks out, past the boat they have just disembarked. He can see the mainland in the distance, and other islands dotted about, humps of land rising from the ocean. The sky stretches above them, feeling at once closer and further away than usual due to the simplicity of the skyline.

He decides he can’t wait to see the stars that night.

“You’ve been here a lot then,” he says. Remus glances over his shoulder.

“Yes. We used to spend the summers out here – we rented a little cottage. Not much different from home, I suppose, but there are a few beaches quiet enough for me to swim without my scars attracting attention, and Dad was always calmer here – he liked watching the birds. Marie liked to take photographs. Mum was just happy we were all happy.”

Sirius picks up on the used to. “Not anymore?”

Remus shrugs. “Can’t afford it. And Dad can never get away from work. Or so he says. I think… I think some part of him believed I’d stop being a werewolf when I grew up. No such luck.” Remus offers up a self-depreciating shrug, and Sirius catches his hand.

“We’re here now.”

“We can stop by the shop, if you like. Or just head out to where we’ll camp. I think I remember the way.”

Sirius laughs. “I think we’ve got enough food to feed an army, thanks to your mum. Let’s go.”

They walk up the quiet road. Only one car passes them, a battered old thing that wouldn’t last two minutes on an ordinary road.

“It’s so quiet,” Sirius says. Becherel had been quiet, in the way of a sleepy village, but this was different. This was quiet in the way of complete isolation. Even out in the forest there had been the constant movement of the leaves and the trees, the rustle of creatures in the undergrowth. Out here, there is only the distant crash of waves on rocks, the occasional cry of a bird or lowing of a cow. There are as many ruined houses as occupied ones, and Sirius is filled with that timeless feeling that comes with viewing remnants of the past.

Once, a family lived in those crumbling walls. And now the house is mere bones and the family is dust. Looking to Remus, he vows to hold on.

“Not far now,” Remus says. They leave the road and trek across a field of long grass, sticking close to an old stone wall. Sirius runs his fingers across the rough stones. He feels odd in these quiet places. A glance at his heavy boots and leather jacket confirm that he probably looks odd too.

Oh, but how he wishes he could blend seamlessly into this landscape, blank and ready to be filled with dreams. It is so distant from the screaming noise of London and his parents and the constant weight of life.

The grass slopes down, earth fading into soft white sand. Remus heads down the dunes in long, easy strides, never losing his balance. Sirius thinks absurdly of a mountain goat and snorts. In his distraction, he misses his footing. He slides down onto the beach on his backside, coming to a stop with sand piled around his legs.

Remus stands over him, holding out a hand and laughing. He allows himself to be pulled up, catching the lapels of Remus’ jacket as he stands, tugging him in close for a kiss. Remus is willing, pliant in his arms, and Sirius leans into him, the smell of books and sea salt and sweat from the walk, the sticky warmth of skin beneath his fingertips. He kisses Remus beneath the infinite sky and feels dizzy with it.

They pull apart, breathless.

“There’s a good spot to camp this way,” Remus says, and Sirius only lets himself leave Remus lips with the knowledge that soon they will be able to lie down beneath the sky, no one and nothing to interrupt their exploration of one another.

…

Sirius is next to useless when it comes to pitching the tent. Remus actually says he is worse than useless, but he feels that that is something of an exaggeration. He did manage to put the pegs in (upside down, Sirius, how can you put a bloody peg in upside down) after all.

They are camped in a little cove, a semi-circle carved out of the land, back from the beach. It’s sheltered from the harsh sea wind, and above the tide line. A small stream runs off the land and down to the sea. Remus says he stayed here for a week once, drinking the stream water.

“There. OK, it probably won’t blow away,” Remus says, hands on hips as he looks at the tent. It’s small and bright orange, stark against the neutral landscape. Sirius unrolls the sleeping bags and spreads them out.

“Coming in?” he says, and he isn’t sure if the seductive tone in his voice is a joke or not, and he feels a little like blushing, because this suddenly feels more intimate than the lake or Remus’ twin bed in the bookshop.

The only night they have spent together was the full moon. Here, they have their bodies and their minds fully intact.

Remus crawls in to the tent, beside Sirius. He sits, legs crossed. Sirius is lying on his side. He looks up at Remus, and Remus looks down. Remus grins.

“What? Why are you laughing at me now?”

“You look like one of those girls, you know, on postcards? Like you should be wearing a bikini or something.”

“I’d look great in a bikini.”

“Sure you would,” Remus says, but he is fond, and he’s already bending down to kiss him. Sirius likes this wild place, where Remus initiates kisses and laughs at him. Sirius sneaks his hands up under Remus jumper, traces the outline of his hipbones. Remus shivers and lays down beside him, and Sirius cups his jaw. Remus hands find his hair again, and it is silent save for the soft sounds of their kisses.

Sirius means for it to be more, but he’s tired from the walk, and Remus is warm and sleepy against him, and a kiss to the collarbone leads to him resting his head against Remus chest, and Remus’ arm is around him, and their legs are tangled, and the tent is warm from the summer sun, and he falls asleep before he knows it, the taste of salt and Remus on his tongue.

…

They sit on the sand, Sirius tracing patterns in it with his fingers. They eat the first lot of sandwiches Mrs Lupin packed, and share a bottle of water.

“Shall we walk?” Remus asks, and Sirius stands. He leaves his shoes outside the tent, walking in his bare feet. He likes the sand between his toes, though he knows it will be everywhere in the tent later.

Remus shows him bird’s nests, and points out a skerry where seals come in to pup. “There won’t be any babies this time of year,” he says. “They don’t start till late autumn.”

“Guess we’ll have to come back then,” Sirius says, easy. He never thought he liked animals, but Legolas changed his mind. The idea of a baby seal seems quite appealing.

Remus shows him rockpools, telling him the names of the little fish that dart in and out of the fronds of seaweed, and he picks up a crab and tells him about its anatomy.

Sirius listens, but mostly he watches Remus – his easy smile, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the animated movements of his hands. It amazes him that Remus is so different on the other side of the ocean – so stiff at home, so at home here.

“Do you want to hold it?” Remus offers him the crab.

“Merlin! No!” Sirius jumps back. It’s one thing to watch Remus point out it’s pincers and scuttling legs, and quite another to touch it. He thinks he has had enough wildlife for one day.

The walk back down the beach towards the tent. The light is changing now, the sun lower in the sky. Everything is tinted with reds and yellows, a world softly burning. It lights up Remus’ hair, turns it fiery.

Sirius looks out to the sea, and starts when a black hump rises from the water.

“Remus? What was that?”

Remus follows his outstretched hand. A grin breaks out across his face. “Orcas,” he says. “Killer whales.”

Sirius stares. Three tall fins cut through the waves, occasionally rising to show a smooth black head, the misleading white circle of an eye. He doesn’t know whether to smile because of the scene or because of Remus’ rapture as he watches them.

“I’ve only seen them once before,” he says, looking briefly at Sirius and then away.

“Crazy,” he murmurs. He’s never seen a creature that big outside of Care of Magical Creatures. They stand on the shore and watch until the whales have swum out too far for them to see.

…

It’s cold now; night has fallen, or at least the deep twilight that passes for night in the Scottish Highlands. They have unzipped the sleeping bags, and they lie, half covered, facing one another.

“This is weird,” Remus murmurs. “How the hell did I end up on a tiny island in a tent with you?”

“Fate,” Sirius murmurs. “And good luck, I’d say. I’m great to share tents with.”

Remus narrows his eyes. “I get the distinct impression that you probably lie half on top of whoever you share a bed with, and if not, you are a serious cover hog.”

“I reject that proposition, my dear Moony.”

“Oh really? So if we go to sleep right now you won’t smother me or try and steal my sleeping bag?”

“Well… when you put it like that.”

Remus just grins, and reaches for his hand. Sirius takes it, still amazed that he has found someone who actually wants to hold hands with him. He’s only held hands with James before, and that was for a joke to shock a rather homophobic professor (He reported them to Dumbledore, and from the sincere apology they received after the next class, it became clear Dumbledore didn’t share the grumpy bastard’s opinions.) (Sirius was pleased to learn this, because it cemented his opinion that Dumbledore was a pretty cool dude.)

“So,” Sirius murmurs.

“So,” Remus replies, and Sirius can’t see in the half light, but he thinks Remus might be blushing.

“It’s just you and me then.”

“And the seagulls.”

“And the seagulls.”

“Are we just going to keep repeating each other?”

Sirius shrugs, which is quite a feat when you are lying on your side. “Unless you can think of something more interesting to be doing…”

A white toothed grin, a soft chuckle, the feeling of his heart constricting. If he wasn’t certain three seconds ago, he is now; he is hopelessly in love with Remus Lupin.

“I can think of a few things,” Remus murmurs.

“Do those things involve me and you and not very many clothes?”

“No. They involve me, a tin of baked beans, and Barbara the seagull.”

“Damn. Looks like I’m missing out.”

“Come here, you idiot,” Remus says, and Sirius pulls his shirt over his head before leaning in to kiss him. They’ve been here before, chest to chest, toe to toe, but never with the simple freedom of the sky above them. The prospect of the entire night together sends a thrill through Sirius, and he is breathless even before Remus’ tongue touches his.

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, pausing in his exploration of Sirius chest. Sirius had never thought of himself as especially beautiful; attractive enough, sure, but never beautiful – never something to be coveted or worshipped or touched the way Remus touches him, like he is glass, already fractured, about to crumble.

“Yes, Moony?” he whispers, and the nickname no longer tastes like a joke in his mouth; it tastes like a confession.

“Can I…”

“Yes.” Sirius says.

“I didn’t…”

“Yes, though. Always yes.”

“What if I wanted to suck your toes?”

“I’d be fine with that. I can think of better things to suck though…”

“Alright,” Remus mutters. “Don’t be crude.” If he wasn’t blushing earlier, he is now. His lips return to Sirius body, down over his rib cage, across his stomach, biting at his hip bone. If it weren’t dark, Sirius would be seeing stars. He shuts his eyes tight, and his world is shooting sparks of feeling spiralling out from Remus mouth, orange-fire trails across his body, a heat map with a hotspot at every place Remus has touched.

He lies still, sensing that Remus doesn’t want anything in reciprocation, not yet. His breathing increases, and though Remus is clumsy and inexperienced, the addition of emotion makes every touch intoxicating. His self-control is embarrassingly short, and Remus mouth is back on his own before he knows it.

He learns every inch of Remus Lupin that night – the puckered scar on his shoulder, the long thin one across his hip, the soft shell of his ear, the ticklish spot behind his right knee, the sharp bumps of his shoulder blades, the gentle ridges of his ribs. He learns how to kiss Remus until his breathing comes in gasps, and he learns how to touch him until he comes undone.

They wake to soft yellow dawn and bruises that have nothing to do with wolves or cruel mothers, fingers tangled together and toes touching.

Sirius thinks that this is surely the precise definition of happiness, this utter contentment. He needs nothing but to lie here, and gaze into infinite grey eyes, and to brush his lips to Remus’. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he’d always thought those three words to be terribly scary and dangerous to say, but it’s as easy as breathing.

Remus grins at him. “Who, me?”

“Nah. Barbara the seagull. Yes you. Of course you.”

“You too then,” Remus says, dropping his head to Sirius’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

Sirius never wants this to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... only 1 (or maybe 2) chapters left... why are the weeks going so fast. To those of you still reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts :) 
> 
> (also I think the letters to James were in italics but if they aren't, sorry. Ao3 has been playing up recently and not formatting anything right.)


	8. Endings (and beginnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer draws to a close.

Mrs Potter hugs Sirius when he arrives, and then she looks at Remus, shrugs, and hugs him as well. Sirius suspects Remus has just been adopted – family or no family, if Mrs Potter see’s someone who needs a little extra love, she will give it.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Sirius. Did you have a nice time in France?”

Ever the optimist, is Mrs Potter. Sirius grins.

“A few family related hiccups, Mrs Potter, but I did meet this rather charming young man,” he waves a hand at Remus, who is blushing brightly, and staring at his feet.

“Well, it’s always nice to make new… friends… isn’t it, dear?”

She gives him a look that says he can correct her if he likes. Sirius glances at Remus, and thinks what the hell. At least this way James wont abruptly become the biggest cock-block Sirius has ever countered by accident (Now, that doesn’t mean he won’t deliberately get in the way, but at least he can punch him for that.)

“A bit more than a friend, actually,” he says, taking Remus’ hand. Remus blushes even more – Sirius is a little worried that his head might actually explode from the blood rush. “I promise he talks way more once you get to know him. And, you’ll never guess – best friends with none other than James’ heart’s desire – the beautiful Lily Evans.”

James’ faces stops doing what it was doing (which was a mixture of gagging at Sirius holding hands and grinning joyfully at him).

“Ugh… Lily?” James says, desperately trying to appear casual. Remus lifts his head at last, smiling slyly.

“We brought you a gift,” he says, bending to open the box that contains a very confused Legolas (three countries in four days is a lot for a cat).

“A cat? What do I want with a cat?”

Remus’ grin grows wider. “Lily loves cats. Can’t resist them.”

James bends down and wiggles his fingers at the cat, clearly trying to look approachable. Sirius is a little sorry to relinquish ownership of the creature, but when he says he isn’t a cat person, he really means it. Babysitting and occasional stroking is enough for him. Who knows, maybe they’ll grow on him.

“What’s his name?”

“Legolas,” Sirius smiles. James looks baffled.

“Is that some old wizard?”

“That, my dear prongsy, is the name of the most beautiful, majestic elf-man you will ever know of. If my heart wasn’t dedicated to Moony here, it would be loyal to Legolas.”

“Right,” James says, distracted by the cat. He’s quite used to Sirius’ flair for the dramatic, which really takes all of the fun out of it. He looks back up though, catching Sirius eye. “Moony?” he mouths. Sirius waggles his eyebrows. Remus had agreed that James could be let in on the secret if he passed a probation period of three days. Sirius didn’t know what the probation included, but he trusted Remus to assess James’ character. After all, he had managed to figure out that Sirius wasn’t quite the self-possessed asshole he had initially appeared to be.

…

Three days pass in quiet bliss. Remus and James get on brilliantly, which surprises Sirius more than it should, but perhaps it is their shared love of mocking him that provided the glue (James knows all about every embarrassing thing Sirius has ever sad to Remus). It also helps that James is kind of a history nerd (he is the only person Sirius has ever met that actually enjoys  history of magic.)

They are heading into the little town near James’ home on the third day (they spent the first day sleeping and eating and talking, and the second day swimming).

“James? Remind me why your parents don’t have a working floo?”

“There’s nowhere to floo to in this place. The village is wizarding, the town is not.”

“Well. It should be,” Sirius moans. “I bloody hate the bus.”

“It’s good for you, Sirius. Exposes your immune system to all kinds of new bacteria.”

“Ugh,” Sirius says, sitting down gingerly.

“Sirius?” James says gently.

“Yeah?”

“Your pureblood is showing again.”

“Fuck. I’m gonna lick the damn seat.”

“No!” Remus yelps. “That… that would be a step too far.”

“Yeah I probably would end up with genital warts after that. Thanks for that rumour, Prongs. Caused some real issue getting Moony here to kiss me.”

James sniggers into his hand.

“I don’t think you can get an sti from a seat,” Remus says mildly. “And if you did, well, it would likely take some… naked contact.”

“Merlin, moonshine, James really brings out the worst in you!”

“Don’t call me moonshine!”

“You guys are adorable,” James laughs, “Now, moonshine, tell me more about what good friends you are with the wonderful Lily Evans, and can you get her to come over?”

Remus rolls his eyes, and Sirius takes his hand, putting his feet up on the seat to hide it. James is accepting, but he can’t say the same for the rest of the eyes on the bus.

…

“Ice cream?” James asks. Sirius glances at Remus, whose hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“Naturally,” Sirius says. “What else is there to do in this shitty town anyway?”

“Hey!” James says.

“Oh shut up, you hate it too.”

James shrugs and leads the way to the ice cream parlour. They squish around a table that is far too dainty for three teenage boys – none of them are exactly short either. Sirius’ knees are pressed against James’, his thigh pressed to Remus’. He’d be lying if he said he minded – he’s sat in a cute café on a sunny day with his two favourite humans.

“Can I take your order?” Their waitress is young, probably only a year or so older than them. Her eyes travel over the three of them slowly, and she blushes rather prettily.

“Another moment, please,” Sirius says, smoothly pulling on his pureblood manners. It’s a bad habit when he’s in muggle places, and though he hates it, he can’t quite break it.

“Another moment” James mimics, affecting an overly posh, plummy accent.

“Look,” Sirius says, “Your family is just as posh as mine. Riding the bus doesn’t exactly make you common.”

“Ah, Prongsy, but you see, I have mastered the art of assimilating. I pass as a perfectly ordinary muggle.”

The waitress chooses that moment to return. “What’s a muggle?” she asks, curious.

“Uh,” James says, flailing. Sirius has seen this happen before. James will start talking about toads if –

“Sorry,” Remus says, smiling, “Don’t mind them. They have decided to call pretty girls “muggles” from now on. Don’t ask me why.”

The girl’s blush deepens and Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Er – sorry, but um, our hearts belong to each other,” he says, grabbing James hand dramatically.

“We’ll get three chocolate-fudge sundaes,” Remus says, smiling apologetically. Sirius is still squabbling with James, who is trying to reclaim his hand.

“No! No chocolate!” James yelps. “Strawberry, please. And if you could kick this berk out I’d be eternally grateful,” he gestures at Sirius. Sirius scowls.

“Er… anything else?” the waitress asks, looking distinctly confused.

“That’s fine,” Sirius says. “Sorry.”

She retreats rather quickly.

“Remus!” Sirius says. “Look what you did.  I had to pretend to fancy James so she wouldn’t flirt with me.”

Remus snorts. “You’re an idiot, you know? She wasn’t looking at you.”

“Moony’s right mate. That girl had eyes only for him – it’s the scars, I think – makes him look all rugged.”

“Rugged! I can look rugged!”

James and Remus collapse into simultaneous heaps of laughter. Sirius rests his chin in his hands and sulks until the ice cream arrives.

“We should have got different flavours,” Sirius says, looking at his and Remus’ identical sundaes.

“Why?”

“So we could swap and be cute,” Sirius grumbles. To his horror, he feels himself blushing.

James is laughing. “You can be cute with me, Prongs. Moony, what did you do to him? He’s turned into a right sap.”

Remus shakes his head. “No idea. This is a sudden development, I swear. The pressure of being in public maybe?”

“Oh shut up, you two,” Sirius moans, taking a giant mouthful of ice cream and promptly getting brain freeze. “Aw, why god, why? Why did you make the most wonderful food known to man so panful to eat?”

Remus glances around the café, quickly assessing the clients, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “There there, Pads. It’s gonna be alright.”

This doesn’t make him feel an awful lot better, but kisses are nice, so he holds Remus’ hand under the table and eats his ice cream. He also accidentally rubs his foot against James’ calves, but James’ is kind enough not to mention it.

“Good ice cream,” Remus comments.

“I know!” James grins. “I have a loyalty card and everything. Though I’m cutting down on dairy this year – bad for the quidditch bod, you know?”

Remus nods sagely, and smirks at Sirius when James is busy peering into the bottom of his sundae glass.

Sirius vague feeling of misery and malcontent doesn’t pass, lingering all afternoon whilst they wander through the town and rummage through the shops. He doesn’t buy anything, given that he doesn’t have a clue what his financial situation is anymore.

…

“Sirius dear?” Mrs Potter says, and her tone makes him freeze.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he says numbly. “She’s owled you?”

“A howler, I’m afraid,” she says. “You want to go listen to it alone?”

Sirius wants to shake his head, wants to stick his chin up and listen to it in front of everyone, but he can’t… can’t let them know how she treats him. He feels shame bubbling up in anticipation of the message.

Howlers are quite difficult to ignore, however, and he could really do with knowing if he is officially homeless and without any source of finance.

So he goes into James room and waits whilst Mrs Potter casts a silencing charm at the door. Then he sits down, and opens the letter.

“Sirius. I am writing out of courtesy, and nothing less. Do not mistake my calm tone for caring. I will not waste energy shouting at you, for you are nothing to me. You are a stranger. You are a black burnt stain on the family tree.

You have been removed from the will. In the event of mine or my husband’s death, the black fortune will go to Regulus. In the event of his death, it will be passed on too each person who holds the Black name. Should you be the last remaining wizard who has the name Black, the fortune will go to you, only so that it does not pass into the hands of the ministry or muggles, or, Salazar forbid, charity.

Any member of the family who attempts to contact you or speak with you will be cast out. Should you make any attempt to reach out to your brother, he will be severely punished.

I hope to have as little to do with you as possible, and I hope I hear no more stories of you tarnishing the most ancient and noble house of Black’s good name.”

Sirius stares at the lightly smoking pile of ash in his hands in confusion. He doesn’t really know what he feels, only that it’s a complicated mix of emotions and the only thing he can really think about is how hungry he is. Maybe it’s denial, he reasons. At some point, it’s going to sink in. There’s nothing to be done about it though, so he sits for a moment and decides to process later. It’s almost tea time, and it’s pizza night.

He opens the door and is confronted by three worried faces.

“Sirius?” James says, uncharacteristically gentle. Mrs Potter has her arms at the ready in case hugs are needed. Remus is red faced, looking at his feet.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re-“

“Fine. It’s not like I didn’t know I was going to be disowned. Hardly breaking news is it? I’m a disgrace, and it’s finally been made official.”

“So…”

Sirius shrugs at James’ question. “I’m homeless and poor. I don’t really know what’s going to happen, but I’m finally free of that awful cow. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and eat pizza and then go and withdraw all of my money from Gringrotts before Mother closes my account – she only banks on the second Tuesday of the month.”

…

“Excuse me?”

“You have been denied access to this account,” The goblin repeats, tapping his long fingers on the counter. Sirius heart sinks deep into his stomach.

“Are you sure? Look, I my wand and everything. You can test it.”

“My apologies, Mr Black, but you have been expressly forbidden from accessing this account. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Sirius shoots a glare at the Goblin, resisting the urge to say something unpleasant.

“No. That will be all.”

He leaves the bank and heads back into Diagon Alley. Remus is waiting outside, eating another ice cream. “Ready?”

“No luck,” Sirius says. “I have exactly,” he turns out his pockets, “one galleon to my name.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean… that’s bad.”

“Very bad.”

“And Hogwarts – your tution? Is it prepaid or?”

Sirius snorts. “The Black’s Hogwarts tution is paid in full from the moment they are conceived. I don’t need to worry about that, at least.”

“Will you be OK?”

Sirius shrugs. “James’ family are good people. I’ll get by. Better find a job for the last few weeks of summer though.”

“I’m… I’m going to have to go home again soon. For the last few weeks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, trying to ignore the way his heart twists at the idea of Remus leaving, even temporarily. Even though they’ll see each other at Hogwarts, he can’t help feeling that it will be the end of something when he goes.

“It’s only a few weeks.” Remus takes his hand, slightly sticky with sweat. He doesn’t mind.

“Yeah.”

“Can you… say something other than yeah?”

Sirius shrugs, suddenly exhausted by it all, weighed down with worry and stress and resentment. Nothing is going to work out; how can it? A homeless heir to a pureblood empire and a werewolf? Not quite the greatest love story ever told. A bill board opposite the bank proclaims the latest headlines; Dark Lord’s ministry followers uncovered – who can we trust?

Last week four teenage wizards were murdered by masked Deatheaters in a public muggle location.

The week before three witches turned up at St Mungo’s after being put under the imperius curse and forced to murder their muggleborn husbands.

“It’s all going to shit,” he whispers, clutching Remus’ hand so tight it makes his bones ache.

“Sirius?”

“Just… I can’t see the way out anymore, you know? I used to have so much… so much hope. And now – look at us, me and you, and the world, and all this death and – fuck Voldemort, you know? Fuck that bastard. And the ministry and their stupid, stupid werewolf laws, and my Mother – fuck her too. Fuck them all.”

His breathing is coming too fast, short little pants, oxygen not reaching his lungs. “I can’t… fucking… breathe…”

“Sirius?” Remus hands are cradling his face, but he barely feels it. His thoughts are racing, a waterfall of death and horror and anxiety, the awful image of a headline with his friends names on. “Breathe. Just breathe. With me – in – out – in – good, that’s good. You’re OK. You’re OK. I’m here, we’re both here, we’re alive, we’re safe… ssshhh, it’s OK.”

Sirius buries his face in Remus jumper-clad shoulder, breathing him in like he’s about to disintegrate.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “It’s just… scary, you know?”

“Hogwarts is safe. Hogwarts is always gonna be safe.”

“I… but after…”

“Don’t think about after? OK? Just now. There’s only now. That’s how we live this life, OK?”

“Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“If there wasn’t a war hanging over our heads, I’d swear my life to you.”

“Maybe the war is all the more reason too,” Remus whispers.

“You said we decide at the end of summer,” Sirius whispers back.

Remus shakes his head. “You idiot, Sirius. You think that still stands? You think my mind isn’t made up?”

Sirius shrugs, because insecurity and him are great friends.

“It’s you, OK, always you. I love you.”

“What happened to only now?”

“Shut. Up. And. Kiss. Me.”

Sirius obliges, panic retreating back into the depth of his stomach, chased away by Remus’ tongue.

…

“I’ll see you soon,” Remus says, stepping towards the portkey.

“Wait,” Sirius murmurs. The Potter’s have already retreated inside, though James lingered, earnestly trying to convince Remus to write to Lily and persuade her to date him before the end of summer.

Remus turns back to him, smiling. “Yeah?”

“One more kiss.”

“You said that seven kisses ago.”

“I’m keeping you on your toes. Maybe this really will be the last one.”

“It had better. This portkey’s going to leave without me.”

“Good.”

“Sirius!”

“What? I know you’d rather stay with me… we could go camping again… it was so much fun last time.”

“I’ll see you on the first.”

“Spoilsport.”

“It’s two weeks.”

“That is forever. Why are you standing so far away?”

Remus steps closer, back into Sirius arms. Sirius kisses his jaw. “Stay.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh alright. But you have to owl me.”

“Love letters?”

“Just you wait. I’m excellent at poetry, you know.”

Remus snorts, blowing air across Sirius’ cheek. “Really?”

“Roses are red, Moony is blue, because he can’t kiss Sirius because he’s in Scotland.”

“Oh wow. I’m wooed.”

“I totally wooed you.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

Sirius grins. “I stripped naked by a lake. Isn’t that enough?”

“I don’t know what I see in you.”

“Quick, kiss me before you have to go.”

…

Ordinarily, summers with James fly by, but the following two weeks pass impossibly slowly. James mocks him more than once for staring of into the distance wistfully – it’s odd to suddenly be without Remus; even though they’ve barely known each other for two months, it has been two months of being around each other almost constantly – he feels like he’s got a limb missing.

Though it drags it’s feet, time eventually passes, and September 1st is only two days away. James hauls his trunk downstairs and Sirius remembers that he no longer owns… well, anything. Shit.

“Think McGonagall will give me some books if I bat my eyelashes?” Sirius asks. James snorts.

“In your dreams. There’s always a few old books at the back of the classroom, you know.”

“Sirius?” Mrs Potter asks, entering the room. “We’re going to Diagon Alley this afternoon, and we’ve agreed that it’s only reasonable to offer you the same allowance as James. And of course, we’ll get you any books you need.”

Sirius swallows, emotion swelling in his throat alongside shame. He doesn’t want charity, or pity – he knows he’s asking a lot – but Mrs Potter doesn’t make him feel anything less than welcome, and he knows she genuinely doesn’t mind. When money has never been an issue for you, giving it away is easy. Sirius knows this. He knows that if positions were reversed, if he had money and a home and James didn’t, he’d think nothing of sharing. But still, it’s the taboo of it, the knowledge that everyone who knows will think he’s some kind of freeloader.

“I’ll get a job next summer,” he says. “Pay rent and everything. I swear.”

Mrs Potter snorts. “I do wish you’d rub off on James a little. And don’t be silly – we’d never accept rent from you. Get a job and save for when you leave school.”

Sirius nods, wrestling with his feelings. “I – thank you, really. Without you I’d… I don’t know where I would be.”

Mrs Potter waves away his thanks. “Sirius, if we thought you’d have listened, we’d have taken you in years ago. You’ve been a second son to me since James told me you were like the brother he never had.”

Fuck. Now he is crying. And Mrs Potter is hugging him, and she is everything Walburga never was, and he wants so badly for this to be his.

…

“See you, Mum,” James says, kissing Mrs Potter on the cheek, and hugging his father briefly.

“Write to me this year, James,” she says, as she says every year.

“Of course,” James says, as he says every year. He sends one letter telling her what he wants for Christmas, and that’s about it, but they keep the ritual of promise alive nevertheless.

Sirius bids the Potters farewell, thanking them again, and follows James through onto the train platform, shocked as always when he emerges into the chaos of platform nine and three quarters – it’s a mess of black robes and muggle clothes, teary good byes and joyful reunions, steam and the scent of magic and coffee filling the air. His heart leaps at the familiarity of it – he’s going home.

He’s searching for Remus straightaway, James looking around equally wildly beside him, no doubt desperate for his first glance at Lily in months. Sirius can’t find him though, and his heart sinks.

“He’ll be here soon,” James says, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we get on the … oomph!”

He’s been attacked from behind, arms wrapping around his waist and face pressed to his neck. “Moony?”

“Sirius!” Remus cries, spinning him around and kissing him, dispelling any vague notions of rejection Sirius had been harbouring. Sirius grins into the kiss, forgetting their very public location.

“You’re very enthusiastic,” he comments, still a little taken aback by Remus’ outgoing greeting.

“Missed you,” Remus murmurs, finding his hand and winding his fingers through Sirius’. Sirius feels himself blushing, and James snorts beside them.

“Oh, shut up, Potter,” Remus says, laughing, “You’re just jealous cos no one is kissing you.”

“True,” James says, “But that’s all about to change. Lily Evans is heading this way and I have a kitten.”

Remus just laughs and turns back to Sirius, and Sirius can’t take his eyes off him – it’s only been two weeks, but two weeks is a long time when your relationship is still measured by weeks and not months. “So,” he murmurs.

“So,” Remus grins.

“I missed you too,” Sirius says, almost embarrassed.

“Really? How much.”

Sirius laughs, “So fucking much. You wouldn’t believe it.”

Remus slides his arms around Sirius waist, fingers curling under the hem of his shirt, brushing his hipbone. “I might,” he says, a little breathy.

“Remus! Calm yourself!”

“Can’t blame it on the full moon this time, can I?” he says.

“I don’t mind.”

“Look! No way,” Remus says, pointing. Sirius looks.

“He’s talking to her! And she’s not swearing at him!”

“I knew the kitten would work,” Remus says. Lily is holding Legolas and smiling approvingly.

“Think she’ll give him a chance?” Sirius asks.

Remus grins. “I’ll put in a good word. He’s not all bad, is he?”

“Not even a little bad, if I’m honest. He just likes to think he is.”

“We’d better get on the train.” Remus says. Sirius takes a last look at the platform, breathes in the last moments of summer and kiss Remus once more.

“Yes,” he says. “Time to go home.”

They climb onto the train and find a compartment, Lily and James joining them soon after. Lily sits several feet away from James, but she laughs at his jokes, and his jokes are awful, so Sirius thinks he stands a chance.

London slides away from them, falls away to be replaced with countryside. James is practising a charm he’s hopeless at whilst Lily corrects him. Remus catches his eye, and Sirius leans against him.

“This year is going to be the best year,” Sirius says softly.

“Of our lives?” Remus asks. “I’d like to hope things get better each year.”

“But this year is going to be great,” Sirius says. “No real responsibility, me and you and James and Lily – we’re going to cause chaos. The best kind of chaos.”

“Lils and I are prefects, you know.”

“Even better. We can get away with it.”

“Are you still scared about after?” Remus says, almost a whisper.

“I’m feeling awfully optimistic right about now,” Sirius says, kissing his ear. “We’ll be alright, you know, you and me.”

“Will we?” Remus says, and the fear in his voice breaks Sirius heart, the shadows of war and terror looming close.

“Yes,” he says definitively. “Yeah. We’re going to get through it. I know it. Because I have this picture in my head, and we are old, you and me, and Lily and James are married, and they have a kid, and we are all standing on the platform watching him go off to school, and we’re disgustingly proud, and it’s wonderful.”

“Excuse me?” Lily says, butting in. “I’m not having a kid with that oaf! He can’t even cast a decent alohamora yet.”

Remus laughs. “Guess your fantasy is ruined, Sirius,” he says.

“We could always adopt. Daddy Moony.”

“Oh god.” James groans. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Yeah, we both saw how well us adopting a cat went,” Remus says. “Maybe we should stick with some houseplants.”

And oh, he knows it is fanciful, but right now, in the bright warmth of a train compartment, surrounded by this family he has found, beside this boy he has stumbled into love with, it’s terribly easy to believe in the kindness of fate and the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok... it's done. I think. I'm so sad to leave this fic behind, but I think it has reached a natural point to end. I really, really hope you like this last chapter, and I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> (I may write some epilogues some time, snippets and such, so stay subscribed just in case - I'm not planning anything in particular though.) 
> 
> (also I might be starting a raising Harry wolfstar au soon as well, so if you are interested in that keep an eye out on here or go follow my tumblr - morewordsthantime.tumblr.com )
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a fic I've been meaning to write for over a year. I've written 35k of it, and am just wrapping it up. For the sake of being able to edit it in manageable chunks, I'll be posting one chapter a week. Each chapter will be approximately 5k words. 
> 
> I really hope you'll consider making this fic part of your summer and please let me know what you think :)


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